Straight to the Roots
by The Irish Baroness
Summary: Emma Sullivan wanted to learn more about her family tree... so fate sent her straight to the roots!
1. You Can't Date Francis Sullivan

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**Straight to the Roots**

_The Irish Baroness_

(All Standard Disclaimers Apply)

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**Chapter One**

_You Can't Date Francis Sullivan_

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My finger tapped impatiently on my laptop keyboard as my tired eyes scanned the monitor. I was looking for someone… more particularly, I was looking for my great-great-grandfather, Jonathon Sullivan. Lately, I've been obsessed with learning about my family history particularly on my father's side. His family was from the green isle of Ireland and arrived to New York in the late 1800s.

"Watcha' doin'?" drawled a bored voice.

I neglected to glance up at my younger brother who was looming in the doorway of my bedroom. "Research," I replied simply.

"'Bout what?"

I turned sharply to him. I was not in the mood to be interrogated. "None of your business," I snapped. The past nights of staying up past midnight were finally starting to take its toll, but my curiosity about my family history was too poignant to ignore.

Garrett shrugged and closed my door, leaving me alone in the pale glow of my dimly lit bedroom. Satisfied with my solitude, I turned my attention back to my computer screen. I was pleasantly surprised by the small pop-up that informed me of an email from my beloved father. Invigorated by the sudden means of communication from my father, I clicked open the email and eagerly read its contents.

Downstairs, I could hear the muffled sounds of three boisterous teenage boys playing Xbox and the metallic clanking sounds my mother was making in the kitchen. Somewhere amidst the commotion sat my step-father, sitting poised over his laptop. His work was probably scattered across the dining room table. He has an office that branched off the foyer, but he always insisted on using the table of which we dine on.

"Thanks dad," I muttered, clicking the link that was included in his email. It was a link that led to a webpage my dad found in his family excursions. He was almost (if not as) intrigued by our family history and has spent many an evenings (much to my step-mother's displeasure) researching.

I squealed when I read the title of the webpage. The name 'Sullivan' was scrawled across the top of the page. This was it! This was my family! My eyes bulged out of my sockets and my heart thumped against my chest as I quickly skimmed the contents of the webpage. It described everything about Jonathon P. Sullivan! _Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, daddy, _I thought to myself.

I was about half way through the page when a shrill voice pierced the silence of my bedroom. "Emma!" called my mother. "Dinner's ready!" Ruefully, I clicked my laptop closed and vacated my sanctuary.

The fellow members of the Watson/Sullivan family were already gathered around the dinner table by the time I ambled into the dining room. Naturally, mom and Joe were seated at the head of the rustic table while Sam and Brendan were slouched in their seats at one side of the table which meant I had to sit beside my brother facing the brooding twins. Sam and Brendan Watson were a mere few months older than me and turned sixteen last month. Their oily brown hair was brushed into their eyes and veiled half of their faces. Their sun-tanned bodies were incredibly bony due to their lack of exercise and consumption of an adequate diet. Garrett was unusually tall for being thirteen and had the physique of a burly high school student due to his participation in numerous sports such as basketball, baseball, volleyball, golf, football, soccer, and track. Sports were his life… and school took a much lower rung on the priority ladder.

I look much like my brother (as people have often told me). We both have dark curls and the notable features of the Conlon clan. One main difference between my brother and me (besides our age and gender) is our eyes. Garrett possesses bright hazel eyes from my mother's side, and I was born with deep muddy eyes inherited from my father's side. Also, I have a much lighter physique than my husky brother due to my years as a devoted ballerina.

"Mmm, this dinner looks delicious honey," complimented Joe, his dirty green eyes surveying the hefty meal prepared by my mother.

Mom beamed. "Thank you, sweetie."

After muttering a quick prayer, I delved into the large dish of baked ziti my mother carefully prepared. Our dinner conversation consisted of the relay of events during the day and plans for the weekend. Eager to return to my room and my research, I wolfed my dinner down with marveling speed. My mom watched nervously as I quickly consumed my Italian dinner.

"You have somewhere to be?" she asked rhetorically, calmly cutting into her ziti.

She caught me with a mouthful of ziti. I raised my finger signaling for her to hold her thought and then swallowed the load of pasta. "Uh… yeah, there's some research I'd like to finish."

"Alright," sighed mom. "I guess when you're finished, you are excused to your cave."

"Domain," I corrected her. My mom and I have this long standing joke that debates whether my bedroom is dubbed the 'cave' or 'domain' since most of my time within the house is spent in my bedroom than anywhere else in our home.

After swallowing my last bit of the backed ziti on my plate, I pushed my chair away from the table, and dutifully returned my plate to the kitchen. Then I sprinted up the stairs and disappeared once more into my room. Just as I had burst into my 'domain', I spotted my cell phone vibrating furiously on my bed.

"Hello?" I chirped.

"_Emma, hey!"_

"Hey, Andy, what's up?"

"_Mom's acting like a bitch again so I kinda stormed out of the house… wanna meet at the pub?"_

I considered her proposition carefully. "Sure, lemme just check with my mom. _We're_ on good terms right now and I don't wanna screw it up."

I heard Andy scoff. "_Thanks, I love you!"_

"I love you, too!" I laughed. "But not in a homo way!"

"_Of course not! You're my unbiological sister!_"

"Ha, right! See you in a bit!"

After pushing the glowing red button on my sidekick, I shoved the bulky phone into my jean's pocket and slid into my worn black converse shoes that lay forlorn in the corner of my room. Ignoring my lack of grace (ironic since I'm a ballerina) as I ran down the stairs, I hurried into the TV room where my mom was watching her show, Entertainment Tonight.

"Hey, can I meet Andy at Scruffy's?" I inquired, attempting a pitiful puppy-dog pout (I never mastered the famous bottom-lip of plea).

Mom turned her attention from an interview with Beyonce and glanced up at me. "You just had dinner," she pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said, impatience evident in my voice. "Andy and I just gonna hang out… maybe have a soda… I heard there's a Man-U game, tonight, and you know that's Andy's favorite soccer team."

My mom stared at me for a moment, carefully considering the proposal. "Alright," she finally said. "But be home before 9:00."

I grinned. "Thanks mom! I will!"

Pulling on my favorite jacket, I scurried through the house to the garage. Since I am only fifteen, I don't have my license yet! But I shall have it soon in a matter of weeks! So, lacking the legal capability to drive on my own, I led my metallic blue bike out of the garage and mounted myself on to it as it began to slowly roll down the driveway. _Scruffy Paddy's _is a local Irish pub in the middle of the housing development community. It is located at the very end of 'Main Street' and is the meeting place for Andy and me.

Andy has been my best friend since the beginning of high school when I forgot to bring my science book to class and I asked to share with her. She constantly has her sandy blonde hair cut short and her blue eyes are always sparkling mischievously. Regardless of her subtle roguish appearance, she is impressively smart. We are both taking AP courses and honors courses. Damn straight we are over-achievers!

I was almost out of breath by the time I reached Scruffy's. I usually don't rush to my destination, but I made an exception since Andy was waiting for me and she was a stubbornly impatient girl. Once I locked my bike to the nearby bike rack, I ambled into the pub and scanned its interior for a familiar blonde. Andy was sitting at the bar, her blue eyes staring blankly at a soccer game that was taking place on a flat screen TV. Standing in front of her was a tall glass of Coca Cola (she detested diet cola) that she casually sipped as she watched the game.

"Hey, Andy," I greeted, sliding into the stool next to her.

Andy broke away from her trance. "Hey! You made it!"

I nodded. "Yeah. Mom said I had to be back by nine… so that gives us… a couple of hours to hang out."

"Sweet… was I interrupting anything before I summoned you to this hallowed establishment?" said Andy, offering me a sip of her soda.

I gladly accepted the bubbly beverage. "Nothing too important. I was doing some research on my family history. I was researching the Sullivan family, particularly."

"Oh, yeah, you were telling me about how you wanted to know more about your family! I think that's really cool! Did you find out anything interesting?"

"Actually, yeah," I said. "Evidently, Jonathon Sullivan's son, Francis Sullivan, was the self-proclaimed leader of the New York newsboys of the 1899 strike against Joseph Pulitzer."

Andy's eyes widened in fascination. "Really? That's really cool."

"Yeah. There was even a picture of him on the website I was looking at! You know… I can sort of see the family resemblance. Although, I suppose the dark curly hair was from his wife's side of the family. There was picture of her, too."

"Was he cute?" asked Andy.

"Um… I don't think I'm at liberty to answer that since he was my great-grandfather, and all…"

"So... was he?" repeated Andy.

"Yeah."

"Oooh! I wanna see his picture!" squealed Andy.

My face became grave. "Remember, Alexandra, Francis Sullivan is taken… not to mention dead… so you can't date him."

Andy shoved me playfully. "Whatever, Emma. If only I was born one hundred and ten years earlier!"

"He's still taken."

Liz's eyes sparkled deviously (more so than normal). "That can be changed…"

I gasped. "Andy! That's my great-grandmother you're talking about!" I cried.

"Come on! Wouldn't that be cool I was you're great-grandmother?"

I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "No," I said flatly. "Not really."

Andy erupted in a fit of giggles. Some neighboring pub-attendees looked at us curiously as Andy's peal of laughter overcame the sounds of the soccer game. "Come with me," she sputtered between laughs. "I need to go to the bathroom."

I rolled my eyes. You'd think being fifteen, Andy would be able to go to the bathroom without the use of the buddy system. "Sure," I sighed, sliding off the bar stool. "Come on."

Andy gently wiped beneath her eye to dispel any tears that might have welled during her fit and followed me through the pub until we reached the bathroom. Once inside, Andy disappeared inside a stall while I studied my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My bob-cut tresses curled slightly under my chin and my angled bangs tickled my eyebrows. My hairdo was not typical of a ballet dancer, but as long as my hair was pulled back by a headband, my dance instructor didn't mind my hair… or lack thereof.

The hum of various sports games could be heard in the bathroom as I inspected my make-up. This subtle din was eventually amplified by the unflattering sound of a flushing toilet. Andy finally emerged from her stall and joined me as we scrutinized our reflections. Just as Andy was in the middle of washing her hands, and I stepped back from the mirror to inspect my upper torso, I noticed something peculiar.

"Hear that, Andy?" I queried, straining to hear the sounds of the pub.

Andy glanced up at my reflection as she pulled her hands away from the running water. "What?"

"It's just…" I said, walking closer to the bathroom door. "I think a band of wild boys came into the pub because it sounds crazy in there."

Andy turned off the bathroom faucet to listen to the happenings of Scruffy's. Instead of the usual hum of a soccer game and the occasional shouts of victory after a goal was made, whoops and hollers of rambunctious boys pierced the air. "Maybe a sport's team came to the pub after a game, or somethin'," suggested Andy, drying her hands.

"I guess," I mumbled, pushing open the bathroom door.

Once Andy and I stepped out of the bathroom, we realized something. We weren't in Scruffy's anymore.

"Holy shit," breathed Andy, her face pale. "What's this? We were in the bathroom for like a minute… and… holy shit."

I lacked Andy's audacious personality so my language was much less colorful. "This-this can't be Scruffy's! Where's the bar? Where are the TVs? And why are there a whole bunch of boys dressed like it's a hundred years ago?"

Instead of the familiar surroundings of Scruffy's, Andy and I were standing in the midst of a completely different restaurant that seemed to exist in the early 1900s. Occupying the scattered tables of this eating establishment were dirty boys adorned in tattered clothes, outdated suspenders, and retro newsboy caps. Outside, the happenings of a city could be seen. Men in suits and bowler hats and women in floor-length skirts and billowy blouses were passing by the restaurant along a dusty road.

"Andy," I said my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think we're in Scruffy's, anymore."

Andy turned to me. "Emma," she croaked. "I don't think we're in 2009, anymore."

Our conversation was interrupted when a trio of the boys detached themselves from their companions to talk to us. "Hey, uh, you's don't look you's from around hea," said a sandy-haired boy, his voice think with a New York accent.

"No," I said, dazed. "I don't think so, either."

"Where are you from?" inquired the boy's taller companion, his voice lacking an accent.

Andy's blue eyes narrowed. "It depends… where are we?"

The third boy scoffed and shot Andy a pitiful smirk. "You's in New York, babe! The greatest city in da woild!"

Andy seemed unfazed by this shocking piece of information. I, on the other hand, probably looked like I was about to pass out. "So, uh… what is year is it?" Andy inquired calmly.

"1899," replied the first boy.

I wave of dizziness hit me when I heard the year that flowed from the smug boy's mouth. "1899?" I repeated. "As in the year of the newsboy strike?"

The sandy-haired boy grinned. "So you's heard of it, eh? The whole ting was led by me."

"So you're… you're…" stammered Andy. She turned her attention from the trio to look at me. "Aw, shit, Emma, I think he's…"

I nodded dumbly before I passed out.

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_Yep, chapter numero uno. It serves the purpose of introducing the OC's. _

_I got nothin' really interesting to add to this author's note..._

_Please review!_

_- The Irish Baroness_


	2. What Did You Do With My Sister?

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**Chapter Two**

_What Did You Do With My Sister?_

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"Is she gonna wake up, soon?"

"Shuddup, I think she mighta hoid ya."

"Wait… she's comin' around."

Part of me didn't want to open my eyes, afraid of what I might find. Hushed voices lured me from my unconsciousness and forced me to remember the sight before everything went black. If I recall, Andy and I were standing in a restaurant… in New York… in 1899.

"Hey, goilie, are you's awake?"

That certainly got my attention because the owner of that gruff voice was so close to my ear, his hot breath danced on my earlobe. "Yeah, am awake," I mumbled, swatting him away.

Ruefully, I opened my eyes. I was hoping it was all a dream… but the smell of sweaty boys and the sound of think New York accents definitely proved otherwise. Muttering under my breath, I propped myself up on elbows. I was lying on the bottom bunk of a bunk-bed. Curious eyed boys sat around me, their intrigued expressions unwavering as I scowled at them.

"Back off, give her space," demanded a familiar voice.

"Andy!" I cried, sitting up. Luckily, I wasn't very tall and my head didn't collide with the top portion of the bunk-bed.

Andy hopped down from the bunk above me and graced me with a toothy smile. "Morning, sleeping beauty! How are you feeling?"

"Like I've warped through time and I just came face to face with my great-grandfather… oh, wait, I did," I grumbled sarcastically.

Andy grinned victoriously. "And I was right."

"About what?"

"That he was cute."

I blushed. Andy seemed to disregard the fact that we were currently surrounded by a small gang of boys with the topic of our discussion standing nonchalantly a few feet away. "That's not important right now, Andy," I hissed.

Andy shrugged. "Whatever."

The sound of someone clearing their throat pried us away from our conversation. A boy, who looked no older than seventeen, was leaning against the post of the bunk bed Andy and I were occupying. His dark, curly hair stuck stubbornly out from under a news cap he was wearing and his stark blue eyes were studying us carefully. "We have some questions," he said slowly.

"I'm sure you do," scoffed Andy, slightly annoyed that this boy was pointing out the obvious. Of course they had questions… and, frankly, so did we.

The boy ignored her snide comment. "First of all, who are you?"

"I'm Emma… Sullivan," I replied. "And this is my friend, Andy Baker. Um, who are you?"

"My name is David," said our interrogator, quickly switching topics. "Where exactly are you from?"

"We are 'exactly' from Orlando, Florida of the year 2009," Andy promptly responded, ignoring of how ridiculous she sounded announcing that she was from one hundred and ten years in the future.

Evidently, all of the boys realized how absurd this sounded because they burst out laughing, including David. I grimaced. This was going to be difficult to explain… mostly because it was the truth.

"Na, really," sputtered a neighboring boy between laughs. "Where are you's really from?"

I sighed. "Andy's telling the truth… we are really from Florida… and one hundred and ten years in the future."

This only amplified the peals of laughter. This moment of hysteria triggered the boys into rowdy conversations as they began to poke fun at us, ignoring the blatant fact that we were within earshot. Andy shot the boys warning glares.

"I think they's tellin' da truth."

The roars of laughter ceased just as suddenly as they begun. All eyes turned towards the sandy-haired boy with the cowboy hat standing aloft at the opposite side of the room. His hazel eyes were intently studying Andy and me. His eyes reminded me of Garrett's eyes. At least I now know where they came from.

"Just look at the way's they's dressed," continued my ancestor, motioning towards our clothing.

Our attire was definitely not from this century and some of the boys must have noticed this because they began whispering amongst themselves as they quietly observed us. I was wearing a torn pair of jeans with my favorite 'Lucky' t-shirt and a green jacket. Andy was similarly dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and an old soccer tee as well as a faded sweater.

"Are you starting to believe us, now?" queried Andy, staring intently at David.

David paused. "A little," he admitted. "But this… this is completely insane."

I rolled my eyes. "You're telling us."

The boy with the voice of reason strolled up towards us and stood firmly beside David. "So you's name is Sullivan, eh?"

I nodded. "And you're… Francis Sullivan, right?"

He winced at the mention of his birth name. "I go's by Jack Kelly… or Cowboy," he said. "So… if you's from a hundred years from da future and you's last name is Sullivan…"

He didn't want to finish. So I did. "I'm your great-granddaughter."

David's eyes flashed with fury. He turned towards his companion and shot him a questioning glare. "Jack," he said firmly. "What did you do with my sister?"

---

"Newsies, huh?"

"Dat's right."

"And this is a lodging house?"

"You's bet."

I shrugged. "Okay, that makes sense."

After Jack convinced David that nothing had happened between him and David's sister, Sarah, the newsies of Manhattan felt compelled to teach Andy and me the ropes. We sat quietly on a bunk and intently listened as the newsboys curiously named Racetrack, Mush, and Blink explained the lifestyle of a newsie. It was all truly fascinating.

"Headlines don't sell papes, newsies sell papes!" Blink exclaimed, proudly.

Andy sat silent for a moment. "Uh huh," she finally said. "So… where do Emma and I fit into the whole grand scheme of things?"

I whipped my head around to face my friend. "What are you talking about?" I demanded. "We can't 'fit into the whole grand scheme of things'! We need to find a way to get home! Mom expects me at home at nine and it's…" I snapped my head back and forth in search of a clock. "It definitely must be past that!"

"Look, Emma," Andy said sternly. "We don't even know how we got here let alone how to get back. At this point, we need to keep our wits about us and just figure out how to live right here, right now. Hopefully, our ticket back home will become apparent and we'll get back to our lives a hundred and ten years from now."

I hung my head in dismay. "Alright," I numbly replied. "We'll blend in… but while we're blending in, we still need to look for a way back home."

Andy nodded. "Of course."

While Andy and I were talking, David was contemplating our place in this society. "You obviously can't stay here," he pointed out, motioning towards the hoard of boys that were sprawled out across the bunks of the lodging house. "And there's really nowhere else you can stay… unless." He turned towards Jack. "Hey, do you think Medda can take them in?"

Jack's face lit up. "Brilliant, Davie, as usual. I'm sure Medda would love to take in a few lovely ladies."

I would be flattered if I didn't know Jack was my great-grandpa. "Who's Medda?" I asked.

"Family friend," replied Jack. "She owns a theater a couple'a blocks away. She's a sweetheart and'll take good care of you's."

Andy carefully considered this plan of action. "Alright. I'm in."

I must have looked doubtful because Andy nudged me playfully. "Don't worry about it, Emma," she said encouragingly. "Just think of this like an adventure!"

I sighed. Andy loved adventures no matter how big or how small they were. Hell, to Andy, a small one hour road-trip to the beach by ourselves was an epic adventure. So, traveling back in time to New York City must be the most enormous and epic adventure of them all!

Jack's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Eh, it's really late and Medda won't be awake. 'Spose you goils will just have to stay at the lodgin' house till tomorrow."

I did not like the way some of the boys reacted to this news. I scowled and glanced up warningly at Jack. "There better not be any funny business."

"Of coise not," assured Jack. "Right, Race?"

The boy named Racetrack lazily nodded his head. "Coise not. We's gentlemen! You's ladies will be treated as soich."

I peered at Racetrack skeptically. "You keep your word?"

"It's the only thing I gots!" chuckled Racetrack.

I shot Andy a thoughtful glance. She was probably the same thing I was. We most often were. She nodded slightly and then turned to face Jack. "Alright," she agreed. "But I call top bunk!"

---

The next morning was definitely awkward. I used to consider myself accustomed to being seen and seeing others in the morning that weren't related to me. I finally reached the stage in mom and Joe's wedding where I would come downstairs in my pajamas without make-up and not feel self-conscious. But all of that comfort totally went out the window when I woke up on the bottom of a bunk bed to the groggy shouts of just-awaken boys. Was there ever a time these boys weren't shouting?

"Shuddup," I heard Andy grumble. The bunk-bed shook a little as she rolled over on to her side.

I sat wearily up in my bed. I had fallen asleep in the shirt and jeans that I wore the day before. I was not risking changing into anything in a roomful of adolescent boys. Too chancy… and the odds were not in my favor.

I rubbed the corner of my eyes and observed the activity of an early morning in a newsboy lodging house. Half dressed boys disappeared and reappeared from the bathroom situated at the far end of the sleeping quarters. Expectant smirks were often shot in my direction. I scowled in reply.

"Mornin' ladies," said Racetrack, striding up to my bunk. I didn't object as he sat at the foot of my bed.

I raked my fingers through my hair in a futile attempt to make it seem presentable. "Morning," I mumbled.

"Yo friend not up, yet?"

"No. If it's not after ten… she's not up."

Racetrack glanced up at Andy's bunk thoughtfully. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yeah, nothing's going to be able to wake her up."

Racetrack ignored my last statement and stood up from my bed. Cautiously, he peered up and over at Andy. I dumbly watched as the slick-haired newsboy gently prodded Andy's side. That was a bad idea. Before Racetrack could react, Andy unconsciously reached out and smacked him upside the head. Roars of laughter erupted amongst the observing newsboys as Racetrack stumbled back in surprise.

"It's a reflex," I calmly explained. "I found that out the hard way."

Racetrack grimaced. "So what's it gonna take to wake 'er up?"

Sighing, I slid out of my bed and glanced up over at the slumbering mass of sheets that was my friend Andy. "OH MY GOD, ANDY, HOT GUYS!"

I smirked victoriously as Andy shot up, her head whipping eagerly left and right. I laughed. "Just needed you to wake up, Andy," I said.

Andy's scowl melted into a devious grin. "But you weren't entirely lying," she purred.

I rolled my eyes. "This is your kind of adventure isn't it, Andy?"

"You know me so well."

---

After the interesting morning experience, David was able to convince his sister to loan Andy and I a dress from that era. I am entirely convinced that Sarah is my great-grandmother, but Jack and David both instructed me (at the same time, might I add) to tell Sarah NOTHING.

"Hm, so this 1899," marveled Andy as Jack, Race, and David led Andy and I to Medda's place.

Jack shrugged. "It's not all dat great. It's jus' a dirty city with newsies hawkin' the headlines at every corner."

Andy shook her head. "Don't know what you got till it's gone."

"Too bad we ain't got anythin'."

Finally, the five of us arrived to the much talked about 'Medda's place.' We stopped in front of a theater, the giant portrait of a stunning red haired woman hung invitingly above its doors. After a moment of admiring the portrait, the boys continued our excursion through the streets until we reached an apartment building a couple of blocks down from the theater.

"Medda lives here," announced Jack, climbing the steps to the building door.

Unlike the shanty apartment buildings we encountered along the way, this building was much more refined and suited the tastes of a theater owner. Wordlessly, the five of us strode into the main corridor and followed Cowboy as he led us up a flight of stairs and finally to a burgundy door with the number 505 written across it in gold numbers. Casually, he rapped on the door.

"Hello?" inquired a voice from the other side of the door.

"It's me, Medda," replied Jack.

At this announcement, the door was immediately pried open to reveal the red haired woman from the portrait above the theater. "Kelly!" she cooed. "And David and Race, what are you doing here? And with such a pair of lovely ladies?"

Jack spent no time when it came to getting down to the point. "We's need a favor, Medda. These goils are important to the newsies and they need a place to stay… fo' a sort time. I was wonderin'…"

"If they could stay with me," finished Medda, nodding.

"Could they, Medda?"

A warm smile broke out across Medda's face. "Anyone who is important to the newsies is important to me. Of course they can stay."

Unexpected relief washed over me. "Thank you so much, Medda," I said. "This means a lot."

Medda's smile widened. "My pleasure dear, now why don't you all come inside and tell me about yourselves?"

The boys beamed appreciatively as the idea of a warm parlor and enticing treats flashed in their minds. Andy and I followed the eager trio with trepidation as Medda beckoned us inside her apartment. The home was not too large, but it definitely was not cramped. It suited a wealthy woman living alone. The décor mimicked a plushy theater lobby and the view from the parlor window was breathtaking. As I peered out the foggy glass, I could see a large portion of 1899 New York City. No amount of computer generation could possibly imitate the sight back in our time.

"So," began Medda, plopping down into a velvet loveseat. "Why don't you two ladies introduce yourselves?"

"My name is Emma," I said. "And this is my friend, Andy."

Medda nodded as she soaked in this information. "What brings two pretty girls like yourselves to New York City?"

I thought about my answer. "Um… I'm here to visit my cousin… Jack."

Jack started at the mention of his name. He shot me an impressed smirk. If Medda knew that I was related to Medda's prized Cowboy, she would be sure to take good care of Andy and I. "Yeah," he agreed. "Emma's my cousin from… Philadelphia. She came to New York wit' her friend, Andy, to start a new life. Problem is, I can't take care of 'er wit' me bein' a newsie and all."

Medda peered at me expectantly. "A new life, you say? Do you have any talents that could be put to work on stage? I'm always looking for a new act for my theater."

It was interesting Medda should inquire about talents on stage. I've been dancing since I was able to walk. I was more comfortable on stage than I was anywhere else. "Sorta," I shrugged. I wasn't sure if ballet was part of American culture, yet.

"How would you girls like to work for me at the theater and perhaps become one of my acts?" inquired Medda.

The idea appealed to me and it must have appealed to Andy as well because her blue eyes had an excited glint to them as she always did when she was thrilled about something. If we were to live in this society, we might as well work. "We would be honored," I said.

"Poifect," nodded Jack, rising from his seat. "That's a great idea. Bye, Medda, the boys and I have to gets back to da lodgin' house. We'll see you's ladies later."

After granting their farewells to Andy and me, Jack, David, and Racetrack filed out of the apartment and into the streets just as the sun reached high noon in the sky. They had selling to do seeing as how they spent their entire morning with Andy and I. _Sweet boys_, I thought dotingly.

"Well, ladies, let me show you the room you shall be sharing. I'm excited that there is a feminine influence over the newsies. They're sweet boys, but they're definitely rough around the edges. Please be good to them," chuckled Medda.

She motioned for Andy and me to follow her out of the parlor to a small hallway that branched off into two rooms. The door to the left opened to a moderate sized bedroom housing two twin beds. It almost seemed as though Medda was expecting us.

"I know it seems odd that I have an extra pair of beds," said Medda, practically reading my thoughts. "Sometimes Jack brings me potential newsboys and I care for them until they're ready to carry the banner! This is the first time Kelly's brought me a pair of girls, and one's his cousin to boot!"

I grinned. "Andy and I sincerely appreciate your kindness, Medda."

"Think nothing of it. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some business to take care of at the theater. You should probably expect a few newsies to drop by on Jack's orders. He's always looking out for those he's taken under his wing. Consider you girls lucky to be under the protection of such a chivalrous young man. Too bad he's taken, right ladies?"

Andy sighed dramatically. "That's right, Medda."

Medda chuckled and draped her arm around Andy's shoulder. She leaned in close to her as if to tell her a secret. "But don't worry," she whispered. "There are plenty of other handsome young men under Kelly's leadership. Take Racetrack, for instance. He's such a sweet boy."

Andy seemed to consider this. "So true, Medda. I'm looking forward to spending some quality time with this band of handsome men."

"And I don't blame you! See you ladies, later."

Andy and I waved warmly as Medda waltzed out of her apartment. Sighing in contentment, I ambled into our new bedroom and plopped myself unto one of the wire-framed beds. Outside, life of the year 1899 continued on, ignorant of the two ladies beckoned to this century from a different era.

"I'm excited about this adventure," said Andy, sitting opposite me on her bed.

I was excited too. But I was also fearful. What if we never got back home? What if we were stuck here? "At least we know people who we can trust," I said, half to myself and half to Andy.

Andy nodded. "At least we have that."

* * *


	3. A War's Brewin', Jack

**

* * *

****Chapter Three**

_A War's Brewin', Jack_

* * *

Medda was right. In just a few hours after her departure, two newsies showed up at her place to 'check on our well-being.' One of the boys was impressively muscular with a head of tight coils. His companion was shorter and was obviously from an African-American descent. His pale teeth stood in contrast against his chocolate skin as he graced us with a toothy smile.

"Boots and Mush at you's service," he announced, pulling off his news cap.

Andy peered at them curiously. "Jack sent you?"

"That's right," nodded Mush. His hands were buried in the pockets of his pants which were chopped short below the knee revealing tan legs soiled by the dirty city. "He wanted to make sure 'is cousin was alright."

"I'm fine," I assured him. "What could have possibly happened within the three hours he left us here?"

Boot's face darkened. "This ain't Philly, ma'am. New York can be a dangerous city to be in 'specially if you's a goil."

"I'll keep that in mind," I muttered.

Mush ignored his partner's murky disposition. "That's why you's need us Manhattan newsies around! We's make sure nothin' happens to you's," he said, shooting me a broad grin. He was an extremely up-beat person… I liked him.

"Thanks, Mush," I said, returning his smile.

"Shouldn't you two be selling papers?" inquired Andy.

I blinked in surprise. The thought hadn't occurred to me. These boys sold papers for a living and they depended on the scant amount of money they received each day. Each penny they received contributed to that day's meal.

Boots recognized my look of concern and grinned. "Don't worry 'bout it. The Manhattan newsies look out for one another they ain't gonna let me and Mush starve."

I relaxed. Medda mentioned that Jack was an ambitious and noble leader. "Well… Medda set out tea for Andy and I… would you like to come inside and I have some?" I offered

Mush's face lit up considerably. "That'd be great… uh… can I call you's Emma?"

I chuckled. "Of course!" I said. "What else would you call me?"

Mush rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze. "It's just… you's Jack's cousin… you's like some sort of royalty, ya know?"

Andy cleared her throat and scowled snobbishly. "Well, you may call me Princess Alexandra," she commanded.

Mush and Boots exchanged startled glances. I chuckled. They didn't sense Andy's infamous sarcasm. "She's joking," I assured them. "Just call her Andy. Come inside!"

Andy and I ushered the two newsies inside the apartment. They must have been to Medda's before because they instantly rushed into the parlor and sat themselves amidst the plushy furniture. I watched amusedly as they attempted to sip the refreshment daintily and consume the cakes with whatever manners they had. I admittedly was beginning to enjoy myself in this little adventure. I met my great-grandfather, I'm bunking with a kind and lovely theater owner, and I'm constantly being surrounded by, I'll admit it, cute guys… all with my best friend! Instead of reading about history… I'm living it!

---

"I'm bored," Andy announced. She was reclining in one of Medda's cushioned chairs, her limbs sprawled across its arms.

Boots had explained to us the dangers of the city while Mush sat faithfully by his side, nodding his head after every sentence. He must have been reiterating what Jack told him. Grandfathers were known to be over-protective of their granddaughters and, regardless of the situation, I was no exception.

"Boots," I sighed. "You can't expect Andy and me to hang around Medda's place for the entire time we're here!"

Boots scowled, unhappy I was undermining his authority. "I'm jus' sayin' what Cowboy told me to say. If you's don't like it, take it up with 'im."

Andy bolted up in her seat. "I think I will!" she said, jumping up from the chair.

Mush looked bewildered as Andy strode to the apartment door. Gathering his wits, he jumped after her and positioned himself between her and the door. "No," he said firmly. "Cowboy gave us orders to keep you's here."

Andy glared threateningly at Mush. "Move," she hissed.

I silently prayed that Mush would do as Andy demanded him to do. She was a dangerous girl to displease. But Mush seemed immune to Andy's hostility and remained firmly planted as her blockade. "No," he repeated.

Before Andy could do anything drastic, I leapt out of my seat. "Wait!" I exclaimed. "Why don't we compromise? Why don't you accompany us? You seriously can't keep me and especially Andy cooped up in this apartment. Let's just avoid the hassle now, and you two just take us to Cowboy."

Boots and Mush exchanged anxious glances. "Alright," sighed Boots, pushing himself off out of his seat. "We'll take you's to Cowboy… but stay outta trouble."

Andy beamed, elated to escape the confines of the apartment. She turned towards her human obstacle and grabbed his arm as she proceeded towards the door. "Come on!"

Boots and I followed suit as Andy pulled Mush down the stairs, through the main corridor, and out into the dusty streets of Manhattan. She released her hold a bit when she realized she had no clue where she was going, and Boots and Mush took over as lead. New York in the afternoon was alive with bustle. Street vendors were calling out to passing New Yorkers, women strolled through the streets with either bags or children or both, men strode past, oblivious to the hectic commotion, and the oh-so-familiar newsboys were waving newspapers at street corners, shouting out headlines. Andy and I were in awe of New York's rustic grandeur. This was America at its prime.

"If it ain't Boots and Mush."

Our two guides stopped abruptly causing Andy and me to collide into their backs. Judging by the expressions of surprise and somewhat apprehension that crawled across their faces, they recognized that voice… and perhaps even dreaded it. Snapping out of their shock, Boots and Mush positioned themselves protectively in front of Andy and I. Curious, I peered over Boots (the top of his head reached the tip of my nose) and spied the source of Boot and Mush's alarm.

"What'cha doin' outta Brooklyn, Spot?" said Boots, addressing the smug-faced newsboy and his two thuggish companions.

The newsie's thin lips were twisted into a pompous sneer and his light-brown hair was slicked back under his news cap. His steely grey eyes bore into Boots as he addressed the Manhattan newsie. "I came to see what Jacky-boy was up to," he said, fingering the gold tip of his cane.

Mush looked doubtful. "Come on, Spot," he persisted. "It's not like you's to cross territories just for a visit."

Spot shrugged. "Would you's believe me if I told you's I's was a changed man?"

"No," chorused Boots and Mush.

Spot was about to respond when his steely gaze flickered up to me. His startling grey eyes caused my insides to squirm as they bore into me. "Who's dis?" queried Spot, motioning his cane towards me.

Boots' chest rose indignantly. "None of you's concern, Spot. Dis is a Manhattan goil."

"What's your name?" inquired Spot, ignoring Boots.

"Emma," I answered. I could sense Boots stiffen as I spoke to the Brooklyn newsie. Obviously, Spot wasn't a boy I was to take lightly.

Spot grinned slightly, retaining his air of authority. "What's a pretty goil like you's standin' around in Manhattan? I didn't know Jacky-boy was takin' goils under 'is wing."

"She's his cousin," spat Andy. Mush sent Spot a warning glare as the Brooklyn newsie turned her attention to my blonde friend.

"Is she? I didn't know Cowboy had kin in New York."

Before Andy could respond, Mush threw his hand over her mouth. "Cowboy doesn't like to discuss 'is poisonal life. You's should know that, Spot," he said.

"True. Alright, Boots and Mush, I'll find Jacky-boy on my own since you's seem unwillin' to help me. Be seein' ya." And with that, Spot slid his cane into his belt loop and sauntered down the street, his thugs tagging along.

"Woah," breathed Andy, prying Mush's hand off of her mouth. "That guy makes my blood run cold."

"You's ain't the only one," muttered Mush.

I tore my gaze away from Spot's retreating figure and faced Boots. "Who was he?" I asked.

"Spot Conlon, king of the Brooklyn newsies," he said. "Only Jack and Davie are the only ones with enough guts to stand up to 'im."

I nodded. The king of the Brooklyn newsies seemed like a cunning boy who you would not want against you. One look at his cold eyes was enough to send chills up your spine. Remembering the objective of their expedition, Boots and Mush continued on down the streets of Manhattan with Andy and I close on their heels. The encounter with Spot put urgency in our step as we hurried to see Jack. The king of Brooklyn was in Manhattan.

---

"Woah, slow down, Boots, where's da fire?"

We had finally reached the selling spot of Jack, David, and his younger brother, Les. Neglecting to catch his breath after practically sprinting here, Boots plunged into a description of our encounter with the notorious Spot Conlon.

"What he's tryin' to say," said Mush, his breath still ragged. "Is that Spot's in Manhattan."

Jack chuckled hoarsely. "That's it? I thought's someone died or somethin'. I can handle Spot."

Mush and Boots exchanged nervous glances. "You's sure, Cowboy?" Boots said softly.

Jack nodded and slapped David on the back causing him to lurch forward. "I's got's da walkin' mouth, remembah?"

Andy sputtered. "Walkin' mouth?" she giggled. "Seriously?"

David scowled. "It's just a stupid nickname Jack has for me."

"Yeah, because he's the only one besides Jack who can stand up to Spot!" Les explained, hopping to his brother's side.

I nodded. "Yeah, Andy and I encountered him… he's pretty intimidating."

Jack's face darkened. "You's ran into 'im?"

"Yeah, Andy and I were with Boots and Mush when they ran into Spot."

"Spot's my pal and all," said Jack, his voice low. "But you's two need to be careful around 'im. He's the king of Brooklyn, after all, and dey's newsies have a reputation."

I flinched under Jack's gloomy stare. "I'll keep that in mind…"

Instantly, Jack's happy-go-lucky attitude returned and he slung his arms around the necks of Boots and Mush. "But you's don't need to worry 'bout me. Spot and I go way back," he assured them.

Mush and Boots nodded obediently. "Oh," I said, remembering the original reason why we sought Jack. "Andy and I have a problem with being prisoners in Medda's apartment."

"But it's da only way I can make sure you's alright," Jack pointed out. "Since you's my kin and all, I wanna make sure you's safe. If you's don't like da accommodations, what do you's have in mind?"

"I want to hang out with the newsies!" Andy blurted out, clinging to Mush's arm.

Mush stumbled under the unexpected weight. "It's alright with me," he chuckled, turning to Jack. "I don't mind some pretty goils hangin' 'round."

Jack ran his slender fingers through his hair and turned to David. David was obviously the voice of reason in this motley crew. "What do you's say, Davie?"

David shrugged. "I don't see a problem with it. I'm sure the guys would take good care of Andy and Emma."

"Then it's decided," nodded Jack. "Emma and Andy, you's can be out in the streets of Manhattan as long as you's got's a newsie escort."

"Yes!" cried Andy, flinging her arms around Mush's neck. The rest of us laughed at Mush's look of surprise as Andy leapt into his arms. His cheeks flushed to a bright red and he gently tried to shrug the eager girl off of him.

The sun in the sky marked mid-afternoon… and I realized was hungry. The meager chunk of bread I had for breakfast and the small cakes I had at Medda's served as insufficient substitutes for a real meal. "Hey, uh, guys?" I said, drawing the attention of the previously preoccupied newsies. "I'm… sort of… hungry."

Mush, Boots, and Jack exchanged knowing glances. "Tibby's!" They cheered in unison.

---

"Oh… this is where we first arrived," I said. When Andy and I finally arrived to the so called 'Tibby's', I instantly recognized the restaurant as the building we mistook as Scruffy's when we arrived in this era.

Andy realized this too and rolled her eyes. "We just went full circle."

"This is da only place in Manhattan that'll tolerate us newsies," said Jack, pushing open the doors of the eatery.

Curious glances were shot in our direction as the troupe of tattered children strode into the restaurant. I felt uneasy under their scrutinizing stare, but our male companions seemed immune to their disapproval. Playing the part of gentlemen, Jack and Mush pulled out two seats for Andy and me.

"Thank you," giggled Andy as Mush motioned for her to sit. I responded likewise to Jack. It was at times like these I really wished we weren't related.

After we were all seated, I grabbed a nearby menu and scanned its contents. It looked like this restaurant was an all-American eatery. There were hamburgers, fries, hot dogs, and sandwiches. "I'll have a hamburger," I said, glancing up at our waiter.

"Me too," agreed Andy.

"Hot dog!" chirped Les.

"I'll have the same," shrugged David.

Jack paused as he contemplated his choices. "Burger," he finally said.

"I'll have a dawg," stated Boots.

Mush nodded in agreement. "Me too."

After scribbling our orders down on a small pad, the waiter scurried off into the kitchen. The lunch hour crowd had dwindled leaving a small crowd of customers. Tibby's actually reminded me of Scruffy's… without the bars… the Irish atmosphere… and the flat-screen televisions. But both eateries had a friendly atmosphere that drew people to its interior. I liked it.

Once our food arrived, I ignored my years of training and scarfed my burger down like I've never eaten before. Our masculine company eyed Andy and I curiously as our meals swiftly disappeared. We probably weren't a pretty sight… but I was so hungry, I didn't care!

"I thought you's be here, Jacky-boy," jeered a familiar voice.

Andy and I dropped our half-eaten burgers and swiftly wiped our mouths. Striding towards our table was Spot and his goons. His pompous sneer was still plastered in place and his cane was still slung through his belt loop.

"Hiya, Spot," greeted Jack, flashing Spot a warm grin. His calm demeanor was a stark contrast against Boots and Mush who sat frozen, their eyes warily surveying the king of Brooklyn. "I hoid you's been lookin' for me."

Spot's piercing gaze flickered to Boots. "So dey told you's, eh? They's loyal, I'll give ya that."

"What brings ya to Manhattan, Spot?" inquired Jack.

Spot's grey eyes wandered around our table until they paused on me. "There's trouble Jacky-boy," he said, turning his attention to my aloof 'cousin'.

Jack became serious. "So much trouble dat da king of Brooklyn has to cross territories fer help? Dis mus' be big, Spot."

Spot nodded solemnly. "A war's brewin', Jack, and I need you's help."

* * *


	4. She's In Love With Me

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Four**

_She's In Love With Me_

* * *

I glanced up at Spot and then at Jack and then at Spot again as the gravity of the situation began to sink in. Boots, Mush, and David exchanged anxious glances. Evidently, war among newsies was a serious thing.

"War," repeated Andy, peering skeptically up at Spot. "Newsies have wars?"

"Battles ovah territory," explained Jack. "Spot's position as king is bein' challenged."

Spot scowled. "I ain't bein' challenged," he said. "I jus' got into trouble with da Duke a' Harlem."

Jack seemed to find this humorous. He leaned back in his seat and let out a hoarse laugh. "Whatcha do this time, Spot?"

Spot's stormy eyes flickered with fury as the leader of the Manhattan newsies publically mocked him. He dug the brunt of his cane into the floorboards of the restaurant with such force, I flinched back in surprise. "I didn't laugh when you's came to Brooklyn talkin' 'bout goin' on strike, Cowboy. I ain't gotta walkin' mouth," his gaze hovered on David, "to convince ya to join me."

"Woah, don't need to get upset, Spot," chuckled Jack. "I'll help ya. I just wanna know why the Duke is made witcha."

The fury that raged in Spot's eyes suddenly subsided and he fingered the head of his cane nervously. "The Duke thinks I kidnapped 'is sistah."

Jack burst out laughing and Boots and Mush joined him. I tried to hush their laughter when I spied Spot's steely rage returning to his eyes. "Guys, come on," I pleaded. "Spot needs your help."

"I don' t need help," snapped Spot. "I's just needs some assistance."

"Alright, alright, I'll help ya, Spot," said Jack, placing a heavy emphasis on 'help'. "Lemme talk with da Duke 'n see what I's can do."

"Nuttin' will persuade 'im otherwise, Jacky-boy," Spot said glumly. "He's convinced I's kidnapped 'is sistah."

"Which confuses me, Spot. Wha' made da Duke think ya kidnapped 'is sistah?"

I blinked in surprise as I watched the king of Brooklyn's countenance become uncomfortable and awkward. His suffocating arrogance suddenly dispersed leaving and anxious and fretful boy. "She's in love with me," he muttered.

I had never seen Jack laugh so hard.

---

Jack's final peal of laughter earned him Spot's fist to connect with his face. Once the scuffle ignited, Tibby's owner appeared at our table and shooed us out of the restaurant. Unfortunately, Spot's anger wasn't satisfied and David and Mush had to hold him back from pummeling Jack. Spot's thugs stood idly by and watched as their leader fought against his restraint. It all looked very immature.

"Jack, shut up!" I commanded. "And Spot, calm the hell down! This isn't how you should be handling the situation!"

Jack's mocking laughter ceased and Spot stopped struggling against David and Mush. Andy and the newsies gawked as I scolded the two newsie leaders. "Jack, Spot crossed territories, which is obviously a risky thing to do, to implore your assistance and what do you do? You laugh! And Spot, I realize Jack can be… infuriating, he is my cousin, after all. But you need to stop lashing out!"

Spot gaped in disbelief. "How many walkin' mouths do ya got, Cowboy?"

I felt a blush creep across my cheeks as Boots, Mush, and David grinned at me appraisingly. "You sort of have to be when dealing with Jack," I mumbled.

Jack scowled. "Hey!"

Spot shrugged off Mush and David's grip and straightened out his tousled appearance. Retrieving his can from out of his belt loop, he sauntered up to Jack and tapped the cane's head against his chest. "Alright, go ahead 'n talk with da Duke," he said. His unwavering gaze flickered to me. "But only if she goes witcha."

---

"No, Spot," Jack said firmly.

We were all gathered in Medda's parlor to discuss the details of our confrontation with Harlem. Jack was absolutely apposed to the idea of me going to Harlem, but Spot wouldn't have it any other way. They were both being incredibly stubborn.

"If dat goil can talk some sense into two newsie leadahs at once," insisted Spot. "She'll have no problem with da Duke."

"No," repeated Jack, his voice gaining volume. "It's too dangerous for my cousin to go to Harlem."

"Jack," I cut in. "Maybe I should go if it helps prevent a war…"

"No means no, Emma!" exclaimed Jack, jumping up from his seat beside me. "You's came into my care and I ain't lettin' ya get in da middle of a potential war."

A curious thought popped into my head. "Well, maybe that's why I came into your care. Maybe I was meant to stop his war!" I argued.

Jack looked flustered. I had a point and he knew it. "Don't ya wanna go home?" He asked softly.

Now it was my turn to laugh. "I'm not going to die, Jack. I'm just going to talk with this 'Duke' guy."

"Duke does have a rep," cut in Spot before Jack could respond. "But then again, Jacky-boy, so do I, and believe it or not, you's rise against Pulitzer gave you's a rep, too. Harlem ain't gonna do anythin' funny in the presence of Brooklyn and Manhattan."

Jack sighed in defeat. Hesitating, he spat into his hand and extended it to Spot. I cringed as Spot did likewise and they clasped hands in a grimy handshake.

"That's gross!" cried Andy.

This time, everyone laughed.

---

I anxiously peered into the vanity mirror and practiced my 'poker face'. Today was the day I was to accompany Spot and Jack to Harlem. The decision to speak with the Duke was reached a couple of days prior and my stomach had been churning ever since.

Andy was sitting calmly on her bed as she commented on my array of poker faces. "It looks like you swallowed a lemon," she said.

"I give up!" I cried, collapsing on to Andy's bed. "I can't do this!"

"Then don't come."

I bolted up at the sound of Jack's voice. He, David, and Racetrack were standing in the threshold of our room. Immense worry was scrawled across the leader's face and I felt remorse for making him fret so much. "No," I said confidently. "I can't back down on you and Spot. My dad's a lawyer and I know how to reach compromises. You need me."

Jack sighed and nodded for me to follow him. "Let's go. But not you's, Andy."

Andy had just slid off her bed to tag behind me when Jack ordered her to stay. "But, Jack!" she objected. "I need to be by my best friend's side!"

"I thought you's was gonna say that," said Jack, shoving Racetrack forward. "That's why Race, here, is gonna escort you's, today."

Racetrack grinned. "I'm you's for da day."

Andy didn't look convinced.

"I'll be fine!" I assured her, stepping out into the corridor with Jack and David. "Have fun with Racetrack!"

The last thing I saw as I hurried out of the apartment with the two newsies was the most genuine look of worry I had ever seen on Andy's face.

---

The sun beat down relentlessly on us as we trudged to Brooklyn to meet up with Spot. I was extremely uncomfortable in my heavy wool clothes and thick-soled boots. In twenty-first century Florida, I would embrace this heat with a pair of Bermuda shorts, a cotton tank-top, and a pair of trusty flip-flops… I was definitely starting to feel the nausea of homesickness.

Finally, we reached the docks. I stayed close to Jack and David as we marched past leering, half-naked boys as they clambered out of the river water. They chuckled in amusement as they recognized the Manhattan leader by his signature red bandana and cowboy hat. The Brooklyn newsies wanted to make the impression that we had crossed into hostile territory. And if Spot hadn't been expecting us, I think we would have been.

"Jack be nimble, Jack be quick," chuckled Spot, peering down at the three of us from his perch of towering crates and plywood.

When his roaming gaze paused on me, I flinched. His eyes were so piercing. I felt as though he could see right through me. Without hesitation, Spot jumped down from his shabby throne and spat into his hand. Jack did the same and they clasped hands in a friendly shake. If Andy were here, she would probably berate the two of them for being so unsanitary.

"Here we are," said Jack, motioning towards David and I. "You's ready to go?"

Spot nodded as he fingered the mysterious key that hung around his neck. "I's been ready, Jacky-boy."

Ignoring propriety, I opened my mouth. "I have a question… you said that the Duke accused you of kidnapping his sister. That would mean his sister would have to be with you…"

"What's your point?" said Spot, eyeing me curiously.

"Is she?"

Spot sighed. "No, she ain't."

My brow furrowed. "Then where is she because she's obviously not in Harlem!"

Jack beamed at my quick thinking. "She's right. Where is dis goil, Spot?"

Spot shot me an icy glare before answering Jack's question. I recoiled under his stare and edged closer to David. He and Jack might have been immune to his piercing eyes, but I sure wasn't. "I's seen her a couple 'a times. She'd stop by talkin' 'bout her love for me. I kept telling her that I's not da guy for her… but she wouldn't listen. I's have my suspicions that she's in Brooklyn… but she ain't in my company."

I nodded. "That makes sense. So the scenario is that the Duke of Harlem has accused you of kidnapping his lovesick sister who is in Brooklyn… but we don't know where."

"Dat's right," said Spot. "So let's go and clear things up with Duke."

"No."

Spot's eyes narrowed when I opposed him. "What?" he said icily.

A shiver ran up my spine as I peered into his penetrating gaze. "No," I repeated. "We'd be telling the Duke that his sister is in Brooklyn… but we don't know where. Worst case scenario would be the Duke losing his temper and infiltrating your territory to find his sister would result in a war because no doubt your boys wouldn't tolerate Harlem's invasion of Brooklyn."

The gang of boys that surrounded our meeting nodded in agreement. Spot inspected the uneasy expressions of his boys and then turned back to me. "So what you's suggest?"

I took a deep breath. I knew Spot wasn't going to like my solution. "Find her."

I was right. "What!?" exclaimed Spot, striding up to me. I stumbled backwards as the king of Brooklyn loomed over me, his handsome face a mere few inches from mine. "You's wants to find the goil who caused this war?"

"T-there isn't a war yet," I corrected him, my voice losing its vigor. "And I think if we find the Duke's sister, we would have a better chance of preventing it rather then telling him his sister's lost in an opposing territory and risk bloodshed."

Spot opened his mouth like he was about to say something but then quickly shut it. He spun around to face Jack who was leaning against a pole tinged green by the constant exposure to salt water. "Tell her this ain't a good idea, Jacky-boy," insisted Spot.

Jack shrugged and winked at me. "Hey, you's wanted her here, Spot. You's gotta deal with dis walkin' mouth."

Spot turned slowly back to me and stared me squarely in the eyes. "You's think this plan's gonna work?"

"I do," I nodded. "And I think I have a plan of how to locate the Duke's sister…"

Spot's steely eyes narrowed. I bet he could sense what I was thinking and he didn't like it. "What's ya thinkin'?"

"Well…"

* * *


	5. We Ain't Got Time To Floit!

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Five**

_We Ain't Got Time To Floit!_

* * *

Spot detested my idea.

The king of Brooklyn was bait.

Imagine that!

"Hold still," I murmured to the fidgeting king. Spot twitched impatiently as I inspected the details of his outfit. He was going to court the Duchess. That was what everyone called the Duke's sister. The Duke was so protective of his younger sister, that he kept her by his side constantly until the pair became known as the Duke and the Duchess.

Spot stared me down. "I's don't like this idea," he hissed for the nth time.

I rolled my eyes. Shrugging off his icy stare, I stepped closer to him to straighten his cap. "You're just being difficult," I told him.

I realized how close I was to him as I brushed off his attire. As much as I tried desperately to ignore the fact that our faces were mere inches from each other, I couldn't help but indulge myself in his presence. He was a really handsome boy with the most incredible eyes I had ever seen. And the sad part was, Spot knew it. And he knew how to play it to his advantage.

"So, I gots to court da Duchess," he murmured, his breath dancing on my fiery cheeks.

_Oh no, _I thought fretfully to myself, _he's doing it again. _I nodded. "That's right."

Spot took a step closer to me, forcing me to step back. We were currently inhabiting the deserted sleeping quarters of the lodging house in Brooklyn. Jack and the rest of the boys were waiting idly in the lobby as I helped Spot wash up for his encounter with the Duchess. Spot's hazy blue eyes glinted deviously as I began to get flustered. He took another daring step forward and I took another fumbling step back. Our small tango continued until my back bumped into a wall and Spot loomed victoriously over me.

"You's won't be jealous right?" he purred, pinning me to the wall with his forearms.

My heart pounded against my ribcage. "Knock it off, Spot," I growled.

The Brooklyn newsie grinned as he sensed my unease. "You's green wit' envy," he taunted.

My head began to spin. His close proximity was… intoxicating. With his forearms barring my escape, I had no choice but to gaze into his intimidating eyes… which were dangerously close to my face. Suddenly, he bent forward. I cringed as his cheek brushed up against mine so he could whisper into my ear.

"It's tearin' you's up inside," he breathed.

"Spot," I begged. "Please… don't…" I really couldn't take it anymore. This was the third time he's teased me like this and I was on the brink of submission. He was too much.

Spot chuckled softly in my ear as I tried to shrug him off of me. My resistance only fueled his teasing and he pulled his mouth away from my ear, grazing his lips against the side of my face. He stopped, allowing his mouth to hover above mine. It would only take the slightest nudge to land his lips on mine, but he insisted on teasing me… and it was tearing me up inside. Because, in that moment, I really wanted to kiss him… just to see what it would've been like.

Suddenly, Spot stepped back. "I's can't," he said, shrugging. "I's courtin' another goil."

Immense fury bubbled up inside of me as Spot grinned smugly at my disheveled figure. "Spot, you jackass!" I cried, lunging towards him. I had every intent to tear that smirk right off of his gorgeous face.

Unfortunately for me, Spot was accustomed to the idea of people wanting him dead so it only took a brief step for him to be able to avoid me. "Calm down, mouth," he teased. "You's gotta save dat aggression for da Duke."

"Spot," I hissed. "When this is over… you are so dead."

Spot's eyes sparkled… from excitement or intrigue, I couldn't tell. "Lookin' forward to it, toots."

---

Finally, after much persuasion, Spot was able to be coerced into the lobby in his 'presentable state'. Spot's 'presentable state' consisted of a scrounged up attire of scrubbed-clean pants, shirt, and vest. After much deliberation, it was decided to discard his cap and expose his flaxen hair to the summer sun.

A satisfied smirk was plastered across the bombastic jerk's face as I reluctantly ran my fingers through his hair to give it that sexy, tousled look. I tried to suppress the blush that threatened to surface on my cheeks as he grinned at me. As much as I hated to admit it, Spot was incredibly handsome… but he was also incredibly arrogant.

"Can't keep you's hands off me, eh?" Spot murmured so only I could hear him.

I quickly withdrew my fingers. Instinctively, I stepped closer to him so the tips of our noses were practically touching earning a few jeering comments from the surrounding newsies. Ignoring my fevered heart, I stared Spot squarely in the eyes. "In your dreams, Spot Conlon," I hissed.

"Welcome to Brooklyn, toots, where's all you's dreams come true," he countered. Chills ran up my spine as he traced my jaw line with his finger.

"Hey! Knock it off," intercepted Jack, pulling me away from Spot. "We's got woik to do! We ain't got time to floit."

I roughly pulled out of Jack's grip and scowled. "I'm not flirting with him! He's just being a manipulative jerk!"

Mock 'ooooh's' rippled through the lobby as Spot feigned injury. He exchanged amused smirks with his companions before turning back to Jack. "Alright, Jacky-boy, let's get to woik."

I ruefully followed Jack, David, and Spot as we filed out of the lodging house and into the congested streets of Brooklyn. Wordlessly, we wove our way through a maze of side streets and ally ways as spot led us to the edge of a street market where he last encountered the Duchess. When we reached our destination, Spot turned to face me.

"What's da plan, toots?"

I glanced down either end of the emptying street. There was no sign of a swooning girl that could've been the Duchess… yet. "Just stay here, Spot, and David, Jack, and I will be hiding nearby. When the Duchess shows up, try to convince her to go back to Harlem or at least back to the docks with us."

"What if she don't show?" queried Spot.

I winked flirtatiously at the Brooklyn king which caught him off guard. "Oh, she'll definitely show with you looking as desirable as you do." I erupted into a fit of giggles as Jack roughly pulled me into a nearby alley, leaving Spot standing slightly dazed in the middle of the street. The look on Spot's face was priceless!

Fifteen minutes into our stake-out, a buoyant red-head sauntered into our view and I sensed Spot go tense. That must have been her. The Duchess was admittedly quite pretty. Her fiery curls were tied up in loose knot, allowing several stray coils to frame her heart-shaped face and her face remained unblemished from the expected freckles that often accompany red hair. Regardless of her unflattering garments, a slender waist and voluptuous curves were discernable and I was beginning to feel envious. When her hypnotic blue eyes caught sight of Spot, she instantly gaited towards him and graced him with an enticing smile. I couldn't understand why Spot wasn't interested in this beautiful girl… she seemed to find Spot even more amazing than he found himself.

Luckily, Jack, David, and I could hear their conversation as the Duchess strode up to the reluctant king. "Good afternoon, Spot," purred the Duchess. "Aren't you supposed to be selling papers?"

Spot remained aloof as the coy red-head edged closer to him. "I's sold 'em all. Just thought I's walk around Brooklyn… my territory…"

"And it's magnificent, Spot," nodded the Duchess.

My heart leapt into my throat as an expression of concern found its way on to Jack's smug face. I didn't think the conceited jerk had the capacity for such an emotion. "It is," he agreed. "But it's 'n danger."

The Duchess innocently cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"You's brudda is wagin' a war, Duchess, unless you's retoin to Harlem."

The Duchess stuck her bottom lip out in a defiant pout. "I don't wanna leave you, Spot…"

"But if you's don't go back, there'll be a war 'n you's be puttin' your brudda 'n me in danger," Spot said gravely.

The Duchess' face fell. "You have another girl, don't you Spot?" she accused him.

"No, that ain't it," Spot insisted. "I's—"

"How dare you!" shrieked the Duchess. Her face flushed with fury as she fumbled backwards. From my hiding place behind a pile of crates, I could see the rage storming in her sapphire eyes.

Spot put up his hands as if to try to calm her. "Wait, Duchess, that ain't it—"

"I'm going back to Harlem," announced the Duchess, her voice laced with venom. "But only to tell my brother that you broke my heart!"

Before Spot had the chance to protest, the lived red-head sped down an adjacent alley and out of sight. I could see the anguish in Spot's eyes as I slowly abandoned my hiding place to join him in the middle of the street. The air of war was more oppressive, now, and distress was written all over Spot's face.

"This ain't good, Jacky-boy," muttered Spot, running his fingers dejectedly through his hair.

David shot Jack an anxious look. "You're getting us involved, aren't you?"

"Of course!" said Jack, clapping Spot on the shoulder. "Spot's my pal! I ain't gonna let Harlem soak 'em."

Suddenly, all eyes turned to me. "What do we do now?" Spot asked me.

I knew there was no way to avoid it. "Prepare for war," I said weakly.

---

The Manhattan newsboys grumbled amongst themselves when Jack announced the approach of war. The sun had just begun to sink below the New York skyline when David, Jack, and I returned to the Manhattan newsboys' lodging house. I was feeling crummy. After all, it was _my_ plan that backfired… resulting in an almost absolute chance of war.

Andy sat anxiously on a tattered couch between Mush and Racetrack. Evidently, after we left Medda's apartment earlier that day, Racetrack led her to the races. From what Racetrack was telling me, she was really adverse to it in the beginning, but was finally able to enjoy herself. I knew if I asked Andy how her day went, she would probably tell me that it was horrible… when deep down I knew she had a good time with Racetrack.

"But dere shouldn't be a war!" protested Blink, wringing his news cap in his calloused hands. "Da Duke is getting' his skanky sistah back! Ain't that what he was wagin' war in the foist place? 'Cause Spot 'kidnapped' 'is sistah?"

Jack glanced over at me, urging me to explain. I took a deep breath and stood up from my seat beside David, attracting the attention of the newsies. "The Duchess is going to tell her brother that Spot broke her heart, and if the Duke is really as over-protective as the rumors say he is, he's going to be furious and demand retribution."

Mush and Boots exchanged side-long glances. "You mean…" began Boots. "The Duke's gonna start a war 'cause Spot rejected 'is sistah?"

I nodded solemnly. "That's right."

"Then why don't Spot just get with da goil?" suggested Skittery.

I shrugged. How as I supposed to know the inner workings of the king of Brooklyn's mind? He utterly puzzled me. "I don't know. I mean, the Duchess is definitely pretty…" a few newsies mumbled in agreement. "But Spot just doesn't seem interested in her."

Racetrack gaped, causing his cigar to fall out of his mouth. "He's 'what'?"

"Um… Spot doesn't seem interested…" I repeated. Why was Racetrack so surprised? _Actually, _I thought to myself, _all of the guys look surprised. _Indeed, all of the newsies gathered in the dim lobby blanched at me like I had… well… come from the future.

Racetrack numbly shook his head. "No, no, no… Spot Conlon's nevah just 'uninterested'. He's _always _interested. He practically has a new goil every day. It don't mattah to him as long as da goil is a lookah and can kiss… if ya know what I mean…"

The Manhattan newsies nodded in agreement. Even Jack had to admit it was true. "Good point, Race. Somethin's gotta be up."

"Regardless," I cut in. This really wasn't the time to discuss Spot's love life. "We have a war on our hands and we need to prepare. Contrary to what you're thinking, we don't want to get others involved in this fray. If we start racking up numbers, Harlem's going to feel threatened and they're going to form alliances, too. The last thing we want is an all out New York newsie massacre. If we create too much of a disturbance, the city's going to step it… and that would be very, very bad."

"First things first," continued David, standing up beside me. "We have to at least talk with the Duke and see if we can reach some sort of agreement. True, he's over-protective of his sister… but is he willing to fight a battle over her? We want to make sure that he's not. And if he is, we want to appease that before anything drastic happens."

Confidence began to return to the lodging house lobby as the newsies nodded their head in agreement. If we played our cards right, we would be able to avoid a bloody brawl. I glanced over at Andy whose head was lying limply on Mush's shoulder. She was exhausted after a day full of antics with Racetrack. Actually, I was feeling pretty spent, myself. After all, I did practically set in motion a dreaded newsie war.

* * *

_Buh, buh, buuuuh... war's a brewin'! And while Emma tried to stop the war... she actually acted like its catalyst and set it all in motion! And why did Spot reject the Duchess? She was a beautiful girl that was practically groveling at his feet! Hmmm... stay tuned!_

- The Irish Baroness


	6. Ain't Never Swapped Spit Wit' A Guy

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Six**

_Ain't Never Swapped Spit Wit' A Guy_

* * *

I sighed and slid deeper into my lounging position propped up against a crate. Completely against my will, Jack dragged me to Brooklyn to have a 'war council' with Spot. When I suggested that David attend the meeting and not me, Jack explained that he couldn't because David had to sell papers to help support his family. So… here I was… bitterly awaiting the arrival of the king of Brooklyn.

As I sat brooding amongst an array of crates, fish nets, and random planks of plywood, Jack was talking with a Brooklyn newsie. Jack seemed to disregard the tension between territories. He was a blasé guy who was easy to get along with… but I was still mad at him for bringing me to Brooklyn.

The harbor air was filled with the nostalgic scent of seawater and fish. The hypnotic sound of waves lapping against the docks and the rowdy shouts of newsboys hung in the air as I reclined lazily against the shipping debris. It was achingly similar to my lethargic afternoons on Florida's Atlantic coast. Andy would agree… if she were here. Racetrack offered her the opportunity to sell papers with him and she immediately agreed, leaving me to go to Brooklyn with Jack.

"Heya, toots."

I felt my bitterness boil over into a poignant loathing as I sensed a familiar smug presence looming over me. I ruefully peered up at Spot who stood behind me, bent over so I could clearly see his pompous smirk. "Nice to see you, Spot," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Spot's smirk widened. "I knew you's missed me."

I was about to argue when Jack strode up to the king. As usual, Jack spat into his hand an eagerly offered it to Spot. And, as usual, Spot accepted with his saliva-coated hand. Then, Spot spat again into his palm and promptly extended it to me. My eyes grew wide with revulsion. "Hell no," I said flatly.

Spot chuckled. "You's gotta do it, toots."

I gazed imploringly at Jack. In response, he shot me a toothy grin and motioned for me to continue. I was glad Andy wasn't here to see this. "Nasty," I groaned, spitting into my hand and then grasping Spot's.

"What?" teased Spot, after I swiftly withdrew my hand. "You's ain't never swapped spit wit' a guy, before?"

I felt my ears burn with embarrassment. "That's none of your business!" I shrieked.

Spot's steely eyes sparkled mischievously. Ignoring my death glares, the Brooklyn newsie stepped closer to me. Since I was still sitting, I could only shrink back against my crate as Spot hovered over me. "Would you's like to?" he drawled.

I wanted to scream so many things. A string of colorful adjectives and nicknames ran through my mind as Spot's face inched closer to mine. But the only thing that escaped my quivering lips was a terrified squeak.

Then, not a moment too soon, Jack pulled roughly at Spot's collar, prying him away from me. "Stop floitin' with Emma, Spot. I's don't want 'er to become one of you's goils," Jack said firmly.

Spot shrugged and flashed his signature smirk. "Sorry, Jacky-boy. If you's cousin will stop tryin' to seduce me, I may be able to control meself."

Instead of giving Spot the satisfaction of seeing me in a flustered state, I curled my lips into a coy smile and rose from my seat. I bit the inside of my cheek and batted my eyelashes as I stepped dangerously close to the Brooklyn newsie. Before Spot could react, I did the unthinkable and briefly brushed my lips against his. It wasn't a kiss, but I could see Spot's chest rise and sink at a quicker pace. "It's not my fault if you can't handle this," I purred.

Spot gawked and Jack laughed.

---

For the following week, after all the papers were sold, Jack would return to Brooklyn… and he insisted on dragging me along with him. Eventually, a specific routine was established; I would tag along with Jack while Andy scoured the streets of Manhattan, selling papers with Racetrack. Although it was habitual, our adventure with the newsboys failed to be mundane.

Today marked the three week anniversary of our arrival to 1899. As expected, Jack and I arrived in Brooklyn to meet with Spot earlier that day and immediately the two leaders delved into another 'war council'. Much to my relief, Spot neglected to flirt with me and I was left on my own to wander the docks. I didn't understand why Jack persisted to drag me to Brooklyn. When Manhattan first caught wind of a war, Jack was completely adverse to me participating… now he's gotten me completely involved!

Once I found a secluded portion of the docks, I swiftly kicked off my boots and dangled my bare feet playfully over the edge. The uneven surface of the river refracted bright hues of the sunset like broken glass as the summer sun sank slowly behind Brooklyn's dim silhouette. I breathed in the evening air as it penetrated the thin fabric of my blouse and flittered through my short hair. The atmosphere was so peaceful and so carefree, my thoughts of home almost slipped away… almost…

"Hey, toots, enjoyin' the view?"

My content grin fell as Spot kicked off his own boots and joined me on the dock's edge. "I was," I muttered.

"Emma, I's sorry I's been such a floit. I didn't meat to hoit you's pride," said Spot. "You's don't hate me, do you?"

I sighed and turned to face the king of Brooklyn. I didn't hate him. The truth was, I didn't actually have any ill-feelings towards him… sometimes, I just found him irksome. "No, Spot, I don't hate you," I assured him. "Sometimes, you act like a…"

Spot's face brightened. "King? Heart-throb? Romantic?"

"Jerk."

Spot laughed. But the joyous sound that filled the salty air was not his usual spiteful laugh. This laugh was true and genuine and I never wanted it to stop. "How as your war meeting?" I asked him, slightly disappointed after his laugh died down.

Spot shrugged. "Until we's get woid from Harlem, there's not much we's can do."

I nodded solemnly. We were anticipating a messenger from Harlem any day now to confirm our grim expectations… war was coming. "Hey Spot," I said hesitantly, breaking the brief silence that settled in. "Something has been bothering me… you said that the Duchess has visited you before and you rejected her… but that time you told her to go back to Harlem while David, Jack, and I were watching, she acted like you had never turned her down, before."

Spot averted his gaze. "Um, well… dat's because…"

"Spot, you weren't…"

Spot glumly nodded his head. "Yeah," he muttered. "I's been stringin' her along…"

"Spot!" I gasped. "How could you? That poor girl… you've been toying with her emotions."

I watched as remorse tugged at Spot's features. "I know, Emma. I's jus' so sued to bein' with goils that I'd figure I's jus' have a fling with da Duchess," he muttered. "But… somethin' happened… besides da war, I mean…"

"What?" I queried, urging him to continue.

Spot paused before continuing. "I's met someone…"

I sat up with interest. "What's so special about her?"

"Well," said Spot, avoiding my eager gaze. "Breathin' becomes difficult even when I _ain't _kissin' her, me heart beats fast even when I _ain't _holdin' her, and I constantly think 'bout her when she _ain't _around."

"Wow, Spot, I think you have it bad for this girl… who is she?"

Spot opened his mouth like he was about to say something but then shut it again. I could tell by the conflicting look in his eyes that he was having an internal debate on whether or not to tell me. "Actually, dis goil—"

"Spot, Emma!"

Spot and I turned around to see Jack sprinting towards us, a small army of Brooklyn newsies close on his heels. As the mob drew closer, I spotted a face I had never seen before at the docks amidst the Brooklyn newsies. I instantly knew what was happening. Harlem sent a messenger.

-

The Harlem messenger sat nervously amidst a crowd of grim-faced Brooklyn newsies. Spot and Jack stood squarely in front of the foreigner, their forearms crossed across their chest. I was standing nearby, trying to keep a serious face. But I couldn't help but feeling the fear and anticipation that filled the evening air. It would be the next thing that escaped the messenger's mouth that would reveal to us the intention of the Duke.

"Da Duke… wants to negotiate," said the messenger weakly.

Spot looked slightly taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure and peered skeptically at the object of their interrogation. "Da Duke doesn't negotiate… what's he really want?"

"No, no… he does," insisted the messenger. "It's 'bout 'is sistah."

"What about 'er? She's back in Harlem like da Duke wanted," said Jack, stepping closer to the wide-eyed messenger.

The Harlem messenger stared fretfully at Jack and then Spot and then at Jack again. His toe tapped the dock nervously as the icy glares of the Brooklyn newsboys bore into him from every direction. "He says there'll be war if Spot don't do one thing," he continued.

"And what would dat be?" growled Spot. He had withdrawn his cane and held it out in front of him. I suspected he did this to increase his intimidation. It was working.

The messenger took a deep breath before continuing. "Da Duke wants you's to make 'is sistah your goil."

The gathered Brooklyn newsies erupted into laughter. Even Jack found the Duke's demand a joke. Spot was notoriously promiscuous and never stayed with one girl for too long. Spot's face remained composed as he glared at the messenger. I saw the messenger wince under his piercing gaze. "What if I's refuse?" queried Spot.

The messenger's expression grew dark. "War," he said simply.

That simple, three-letter word grabbed the attention of the chuckling newsies. Although the demand was perceived as a cruel joke, its negative consequence was just plain cruel. I remembered a quote I once heard Andy use that would apply to the Duke's philosophy in regards to his sister: 'You break her heart, and I'll break your face'. It seemed fair. The atmosphere around the docks returned to its remorseful tone as reality sank back in. If Spot complied with the Duke's demands, then the war would be avoided. It would only take a selfless act from Spot that could prevent bloodshed… yeah, I didn't expect that would happen.

Before Spot could respond, I quickly cut it. "Uh, I would like to have a small council with Spot and Jack!"

Spot and Jack looked at me curiously, but agreed. Leaving my place at the edge of the crowd, I strode up to the two leaders and gathered them into a small huddle. "Spot, I don't expect you to agree with the demands, but I need to understand that if you _do _agree, then the war will be avoided. And, besides, I can't imagine that you'd be with this Duchess girl for too long. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who would stay in relationship for very long."

Jack nodded. "I's agree wit' Emma, Spot. Jus' go along with it 'n there won't be a war."

I unconsciously held my breath as I waited for Spot's answer. But just before he was about to enlighten us on his thoughts, he did something strange. His smoky blue eyes bore into me with an emotion and never thought he'd be able to convey… was it care? Adoration? Love? I let out my breath in slow disappointment as Spot shook his head.

"I can't do it," he murmured. "I can't be wit' da Duchess..."

His stubbornness was infuriating! Didn't he understand an entire newsie war could be avoided if he would just think of others before himself for just once in his life? "Why not?" I hissed.

Spot's expression softened. "Because I love you, Emma."

* * *

_Aw... Spot loves Emma... but... she's from one hundred and ten years in the future! Is this the tale of a pair of star-crossed lovers? :)_

_- The Irish Baroness_


	7. Fate is a Silly Bitch

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* * *

**

**Chapter Seven**

_Fate is a Silly Bitch_

* * *

He said it. He said those three little words that I was half-hoping, half-dreading I'd hear. I opened my mouth to say something but quickly shut it again when I realized I didn't know what to say. The sensible thing to do was to turn down his love. After all, he was over a century older than me. But something in my heart was screaming otherwise. The truth was I had fallen for Spot Conlon.

Finally, it was Jack's earnest voice that retrieved me from my daze. "Spot," he muttered. "There's somethin' you's need to know 'bout Emma…"

But Spot broke away from our huddle before Jack could finish. The king of Brooklyn strode up to the Harlem newsie and stared him meaningfully in the eye. The messenger quickly averted his gaze. "Tell da Duke I ain't gonna make his sistah my goil."

Gasps and anxious mumbles rippled through the crowd of surrounding Brooklyn newsies as their leader defied the Duke of Harlem. They had expected Spot to place himself before the good of others… he had always done so, before… but there was the small glimmer of hope that perhaps the king of Brooklyn would commit some sort of self-sacrifice for the good of his kingdom. This was not the case.

"Spot!" I cried, watching as the Harlem messenger stood to leave. "You can't do this! If you say no to the Duke then there will be war!"

Spot turned his impenetrable gaze towards me. "You's don't care if I's make his sistah my goil? Is dat how you's feel?"

An unexpected flood of frustration washed over me. He was so blind! Why couldn't see the reason behind my oppositions? "I don't want anything to happen to you, Spot! Hardly anyone makes it out of a war with just a simple scratch!" I cried.

Spot stood slightly surprised amidst his comrades as I stormed off. I could feel the newsies gaze at me with a feeling of mixed shock and pity. If that declaration of worry didn't reveal to the world my true feelings towards Spot, I don't know what would. Unconcerned with where I was going, I hurried to the edge of the dock, warm tears welling up in my eyes. I let them fall once I was sure there were no witnesses. The crimson sun had long ago set and the sky was took on a dark violet hue leaving me standing alone in the dark haze of night.

"Emma," whispered a voice.

I quickly wiped my fresh tears on my sleeve and spun around to greet the voice. Standing anxiously behind me was Spot, his news cap clutched nervously in his hands. "Hey, Spot," I muttered, straightening my flustered appearance.

Hesitantly, Spot took a step forward. When I didn't react, he reached out for my hands. "You's really don't want me to fight in dis war?" He asked.

I couldn't help it. Immediately, new tears began to stain my face and I completely broke down, sobbing. Spot's eyes became overwhelmed with pity as he gently pulled me into his embrace. He whispered gentle reassurances in my ear as I wept bitterly into his chest. I didn't want him to fight. It was my fault that my plan resulted in the Duchess' broken heart and the Duke's conflicting demand.

"Don't think this is you's fault," he said, stroking my hair. "It was gonna happen eventually. Dere was no why we was gonna avoid it. Just tell me one thing Emma…"

"Spot," I sputtered, interrupting him. "There's something you need to know."

Spot gently pried me off of his chest to peer curiously into my swollen eyes. "What is it?"

I took a deep breath. He wasn't going to believe me… but he had to know the truth. "I'm not Jack's cousin, Spot… I'm his great-granddaughter."

---

Yeah, he didn't believe me. I could tell by the incredulous look in his eyes as we sat around in table in one of Brooklyn's 'newsie-tolerable' restaurants. Jack, Spot, and I occupied a secluded booth tucked in one of the restaurant's corners so no one could hear our hushed conversation. After I admitted the astonishing truth to Spot, he broke away from our embrace in search of Jack. Once Jack learned I let Spot in on about mine and Andy's secret, he immediately suggested a place where we could talk.

Spot reclined in his seat, looking me over. "So you's from one hundred and ten years in da future?"

I nodded solemnly.

"That what's you doin' here?"

I shrugged.

"She's tellin' da truth," assured Jack, idly sipping his glass of cola.

Spot glared at Jack. "That's crazy, Jacky-boy. There's no way dis goil's from da future."

I feel myself recoil against my seat. He didn't believe me. In fact, Spot sounded almost angry. "I'm not lying, Spot," I whispered.

Spot's glare intensified. "I tell you's that I love you 'n you's tell me dat you's from one hundred years from da future? Is this some kinda sick joke?"

I hung my head in dismay as Spot roughly rose from his seat and stormed out of the restaurant. Jack must have also felt my frustration because he sighed audibly and leaned back dejectedly in his seat. The only reason that he and the Manhattan newsies believed we were from the future was because they saw proof. I only had my word to give to Spot and he didn't accept it. I began to doubt if he actually did love me.

---

"Rough day?" joked Andy.

I had just dragged my sorry self into our bedroom in Medda's apartment. Andy was sprawled out across her bed, her cotton nightgown rippling in the cool night air that blew in through the open window. I sighed dramatically and collapsed on to my bed. "You have no idea," I muttered.

Andy sat up and grinned. "Well, I had a wonderful day with Racetrack! He's such a sweetheart. He's such a gentleman compared to those dicks back home." She sighed and fell backwards on her pillow. "Which I could spend forever with him."

This grabbed my attention. Newly alert, I sat up and peered over at my blissful companion. "You're not saying…" I began.

"I don't want to go home," she finished.

"Andy!" I cried. "What about school? Your other friends? Your family?"

Andy scoffed. "School is the pits. I'm so sick of stressing about college… and then I'll have to stress about after college… the stress will never end, Emma. And friends? Please. You're my best and dearest friend. And what about my family? Dad left when I was a baby and mom's a bitter bitch who would leave too if she could. If fact, I bet after I leave for college, I'll never hear from her again. Might as well just sever the relationship now."

Andy's words sounded so cold… but true. I frowned. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Andy propped herself on to her elbow so she could face me. Her blue eyes were severe and her boyish complexion was contorted into an expression of utter gravity. "I am, Emma. I've never been more serious before."

"Well," I sighed. "You may get your wish. I have no idea how to get home, thus far. But I have to disagree with you, Andy. I want to go home. I've screwed up things, here."

Andy's ambitions to stay suddenly melted away and she narrowed her attention on my dilemma. She always the type of girl to busy herself with other people's problems. In one quick bound, Andy hopped off her bed and planted herself beside me on mine. "Spill," she demanded.

I took a deep breath before I plunged into the tragic tale of Brooklyn's war with Harlem and how it was my fault that my plan backfired and resulted with the Duchess' broken heart and her brother's strict demands. My voice softened when I reached the part of the story of Spot's confession… and then mine. Andy wrapped her arm endearingly around my shoulder as I revealed to her Spot's reaction to the truth of where I was from and how I feared that I was actually beginning to fall for the king of Brooklyn.

"Why would that be such a bad thing?" cooed Andy, massaging my shoulder with her thumb.

I hiccupped. "Because, Andy. I'm from one hundred and ten years from the future! If I really do fall in love with him, things would only end in tears because I am destined to go him and he's destined to stay here."

"Then don't go home," urged Andy.

I shook my head lamely as hot tears spilled down my face. "I can't, Andy. I can't just cut my ties to the year 2009 like you can."

"You're right," agreed Andy bitterly. "You didn't come from a shitty life like me."

I straightened to look at her. "I didn't mean that."

Andy smiled apologetically. "No, no, I know you didn't. Sorry, I didn't mean to get offensive."

I threw my arms around my best friend and held her tightly. We had gone through a lot. I was there when her mother threw her out of the house and she was eventually allowed back. She was there when my father moved away and when I set up a webcam account so I could talk to him while he lived in Atlanta. We were there for each other all throughout the bitterness and the pain. The thought of losing my closest friend to the year 1899 was beginning to swell painfully in my heart. I don't know what I would do without Alexandra Baker.

Andy stroked my chocolate locks affectionately. "Everything will be okay," she assured me. "Fate is a silly bitch."

I chuckled reluctantly. "So are you, Andy."

Andy's laughter filled our shared bedroom. "And you wouldn't have me any other way."

Silence shrouded the two of us as I tried to sift through my racing through my thoughts. "Andy," I finally said, pulling away from her. "No matter, we need to make sure I didn't screw things up too much."

"You didn't screw up," she corrected me. "But I agree. I want to make sure these boys come home safe."

I nodded solemnly. I may have screwed things up for Spot and the rest of the newsboys, but I wasn't going to walk away from them. I had dived into this mess and there was no way I was going to get out without doing something to fix everything.

---

Jack looked at the two of us skeptically. Andy and I sat nervously on one of the lodge's torn and musky couches. The Manhattan newsboys gathered around us and waited for Jack's decision. The two of us had requested participation in the war and we were anxiously awaiting Cowboy's verdict.

"No," he said simply, rising from his seat.

I leapt up after him. "Why not?" I demanded. "It's my fault you guys are going into a war and Andy and I want to help!"

"Stop sayin' that," he growled. "Dis war ain't you's fault. It's been brewin' for awhile. Da fact is, I ain't gonna let a couple a goils fight in a war! 'Specially if one of dem's me great-granddaughter!"

"Jack please!" I cried, my voice edging on a whine. "I can't just watch you guys march off to war and pray that you all don't die."

Jack strode up to me and gripped both my arms. I wriggled uncomfortably in his grasp and desperately tried to avoid his angry stare. "You's will! Dat's all you's gonna do!"

"Please, Jack," I whimpered. "I want to help."

Jack's grip loosened and his livid glare softened. "Help my noives by stayin' here," he murmured.

I bit back a surge of tears that threatened to surface. Jack wasn't going to let Andy and I fight. Once he was sure I understood, Jack sauntered out of the lodging house with the rest of the newsboys on his heels. They were all off to Brooklyn.

"Well that's it," Andy muttered glumly. "They aren't going to let us fight."

I spun around and glared angrily at her. This was unlike her to just give up. "And since when were you someone to listen to orders?" I hissed.

Andy ignored my venomous voice. "You didn't let me finish. I was must stating a fact. So, my plan is that we raid the upstairs and swipe some of the guy's clothes and head off to battle."

An unexpected grin graced my face. "I love your disregard for authority!" I cried, enveloping my best friend in an excited hug.

Andy shrugged me off of her and motioned to the rickety steps that led up to the bunkroom. "Okay my little rebel, let's go fight a war."

* * *

_Sorry it's there's been a longer gap between chapters... it's the end of the school year and we all know what that means! FINAL EXAMS! _

_Yeah... it's been pretty crazy... _

_I'll try to update this story as much as possible but be patient with me :)_

_- The Irish Baroness_


	8. A Sad Day in Newsie History

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**Chapter Eight**

_A Sad Day in Newsie History_

* * *

Andy and I crept wordlessly amongst the gloom of the empty warehouse that lined the Hudson River. The sun had previously set casting frightening shadows throughout the warehouse maze. Finally, the time of war had arrived and it seemed that all of New York held its breath awaiting the first newsie cry.

It had been a long trek to to the battlefield. Andy and I discreetly followed the gang of determined Brooklyn and Manhattan newsies as they marched through the streets of New York until they reached the Hudson bank of Queens, the agreed meeting place of the two armies. Queens resigned to being neutral in this conflict and pledged to avoid the bloodshed. Unfortunately, a rumor was floating around that Harlem recruited small gangs from West Side and Midtown. The Duke was serious, but so was Spot.

Garbed in our soiled newsboy attire, Andy and I shuffled past warehouse after warehouse until we became earshot with a brief war council of Brooklyn and Manhattan before the war. A worn slingshot and handful of hefty pebbles weighed heavily in my wool pockets. I didn't know how to use a slingshot properly, but it was the only sort of weapon I could find amongst the mess of the lodging house bunkroom. Andy was armed with similar ammunition and opted to smudge a streak of mud on her cheeks in honor of the battle.

"What are they saying?" she whispered.

We were both crouching behind a crate as we watched the heated discussion between Spot and Jack. Spot's handsome façade was contorted into a furious scowl as he exchanged livid words with the Manhattan leader. Jack possessed a similar frustrated disposition. It must have been the pre-war apprehension that brought about their argument. "They're arguing about something… but I don't know what."

Andy rolled her eyes. "Leave it to a bunch of boys to act like little bitches before a battle."

I held up my finger warningly. "Shhh," I warned. "They might hear us."

Andy pressed her lips into a thin line. We watched warily as the two newsie leaders quieted down. Suddenly, two figures approached the motley group clutching a makeshift white flag.

It was Harlem.

After exchanging a few words with Manhattan and Brooklyn, the two enemy messengers eventually disappeared again amongst the empty warehouses. "Well boys," announced Jack, turning to the gathered group of newsies. "Dis is it. Harlem's expectin' us. Let's give 'em hell!"

The newsies broke into an uproar as Spot raised his cane in a solute and began to make his way to the appointed battle field. Andy and I watched anxiously as one by one, the newsies filed out of their meeting place and disappear among the warehouses. After I counted to ten in my head, I signaled Andy to follow me.

"Holy shit," gasped Andy.

Finally, the boys reached an open area dimly lit by the amber glow of 1899 New York. Harlem was already gathered and posed a threatening image as they stood across from our boys. I inwardly cried as I studied the somber expressions of Mush, Racetrack, and Boots. I had never seen them so serious and so dark. It broke my heart.

"Hiya Duke," bellowed Jack so he would be heard by the Harlem leader across the open area.

The Duke nodded in his head in acknowledgement. "So you's really gonna fight wit' Brooklyn, eh, Cowboy?"

Jack nodded his head brusquely. "You's fight wit' Brooklyn, you's fight wit' 'Hattan. Plain 'n simple, Duke."

A taunting chuckle echoed from the Duke. "Always's lookin' for a fight, Cowboy. Dat ain't good," he chided.

Jack scowled. "You's one ta talk."

The Duke shrugged. "I am, ain't I. Dat's okay. I can handle da fights I get meself into."

I gasped sharply as Spot took a daring step forward. "Enough chat. Are we here ta fight?"

The Duke nodded and pulled out a polished slingshot. "Is da sky blue?"

I wasn't sure about what happened next. I think some Manhattan boys detached themselves from the group and sprinted towards Harlem… or was it vice versa? The only thing I was absolutely certain about was that before I could say, "Holy Saint Francis," the small opening amongst the maze of warehouse was filled with the scuffing and fighting boys of New York. Andy and I crouched lower behind our crate. I began to feel the inky notion of regret as I watched the first hour of the war. No wonder Jack didn't want us to come.

Andy gripped my hand. "Come on," she urged. "We're not any use here."

"Wait, Andy," I whimpered. "I don't think this was a good idea…"

"That's yet to be determined," she muttered, releasing my hand and standing up. She pulled her cap further over her eyes and brought her slingshot up to eyelevel. After loading the rubber launcher with a pebble, she pulled it back and released it at a nearby Harlem newsie. Her target howled with pain as the pebble struck his neck. This bought his Brooklynite opponent a window of opportunity and he socked him squarely in the jaw. Andy grinned victoriously and rifled through her pockets to locate another piece of ammunition.

Biting my lip nervously, I rose from my crouching position and mimicked Andy's movements. One by one, we struck Harlem newsies after newsie. After our tenth victim, the Harlem boys began to catch on and several goons sauntered over to us. "Run!" I screeched, stuffing the slingshot back into my pocket.

Spotting the approaching newsies, Andy broke into a fervent run. Wrapped up in my own anxiety, I began to sprint in the opposite direction. Dust and dirt stung my eyes and the sound of wounded boys and the hallow sound of punches flooded my ears as I ran straight through the battle. I ignored the burning sensation in my legs as I continued to race past the war.

"Hey kid," drawled a burly newsie as I ran straight into him.

I fought fiercely against his grasp as his thick arms wrapped around my neck. I didn't know how to fight. I should have taken up those kickboxing classes at the gym. My breath escaped my mouth broken and ragged as I felt my air supply being severed. Finally, I did the one thing I could think of. I bent my leg and rammed my heel into my captive… where it hurt…

The Harlem newsie doubled over in pain and I was able to escape his grasp. Retrieving my slingshot, I recoiled against a warehouse wall and continued to shower the Harlem newsies with stinging pebbles. My reign of terror had to end when I ran out of ammunition. _Where's Andy?_ I thought anxiously to myself as I returned my slingshot into my pocket. My brown eyes scanned the battle scene curiously for Andy when I spotted something silver shimmer in the dim light.

"Oh, shit," I breathed. I glanced up and saw the Duke poised cautiously on top of one of the surrounding warehouse, his fingers wrapped securely around a silver pistol. I shrill scream threatened to escape my chapped lips as I realized who he was aiming at.

He was going to shoot Jack.

"Jack, look out!" I shrieked, ramming my body into a surprised Jack. The crack of a bullet pierced the night air and I was so sure I was shot.

Frantically, I patted my stomach, my sides, my head. No. I wasn't shot. I wasn't dead. "What're you doin'!" roared Jack, grabbing hold of my shoulders.

"Savin' your sorry ass!" I spat.

Jack was about to say something but was interrupted by an unexpected sound.

Silence.

The moment the Duke shot his pistol, all fighting ceased. Because newsies did not carry guns. Newsies were not gang members.

"Aw man," muttered a newsie. I couldn't tell if he was with Harlem or Brooklyn. "She's been shot."

_She._

"W-what?" I stammered, pulling away from Jack's grasp. "Sh-she?"

The nameless newsie nodded solemnly and stepped back.

I didn't mean to scream.

But I did.

Because.

Andy was on the ground.

She had been shot.

And she was dead.

"Duke, you mother fucker!" I shrieked, kneeling beside Andy's bloody body. "Look what you did!"

But there was no answer. My cries of desperation were met with another gunshot. I tore my bloodshot eyes away from Andy's corpse to see Spot standing over the Duke's dead body, the Duke's gun gripped tightly in his grasp.

Everything was going wrong.

I had saved Jack.

I saved his future.

I saved my future.

At the cost of my best friend.

So, I did the only thing I could've done. I cried. I cried uncontrollably. My shoulders shook violently and my throat burned as my sobs echoed through the night air. Wordlessly, Jack knelt down beside me and wrapped his arms around me. All around us, both Brooklyn and Harlem newsies bowed their heads respectively. Someone had died and she was not even a newsie.

My cries became even more hysterical as Jack patiently stroked my matted hair. "I'm here," he murmured. "You ain't alone. I'm here."

But I felt alone. I felt very alone.

Slowly, Racetrack approached Andy's body and tugged his cap off of his head and pressed it against his chest. "Dis… dis is a sad day in newsie history," he muttered, a stream of warm tears cascading down his bruised cheeks.

The surrounding newsies nodded their heads. No one was supposed to die.

I didn't stop shaking as Jack loosened his hold around me to allow Spot to collect me into his arms. I didn't stop sobbing as the king of Brooklyn buried his sullied face into my hair and whisper incoherently to me. I didn't stop the burning flow of tears that continued to fall from my swollen eyes as I pressed my face into his chest and wallow in his warmth. I didn't stop because I couldn't stop.

Andy was dead.

And I wanted to be dead, too.

* * *

_Honestly, I didn't intend this fanfic to become dark... but I thought some traumatic drama would do this story some good. _

_If you don't like it... I suppose I could alter things. I don't like to leave readers feeling let down._

_Let me know your thoughts._

_- The Irish Baroness_


	9. What Happens Now?

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**Chapter Nine**

_What Happens Now?_

* * *

I felt their worrisome eyes staring at me cautiously as I peered out the smudged window of Medda's apartment. It had officially been three weeks since the war. The moment I returned to Medda's apartment, horrified by the night's events, I hadn't left. Why should I? Every shred of motivation that I still possessed died along with Andy.

Jack had visited me every day since that night. He would cheerfully inform me of his day and how he, once again, soaked the Delancey brothers or how he every so often actually beat Racetrack in their nightly poker games. I always listened to him, but I never responded. Slowly, I began to dwindle away both emotionally and physically. The day before, Jack had commented how much more slender I had become and he jokingly suggested that if I keep this up, I might actually disappear. I could only hope.

Today, Jack led a troupe of newsies to Medda's apartment. In his company was Mush, Boots, Blink, David, Les, and Spot. When the king of Brooklyn sauntered into the apartment, I quickly averted my gaze. Every time I looked at him, feeling would return to my heart. And it scared me. I was perfectly content with being cold and unfeeling. It numbed the pain after Andy's death.

Hesitantly, Jack cleared his throat. "Afternoon, Emma. How's ya doin', today?" he said.

I shrugged.

"Still not talkin'?"

I shrugged again.

Suddenly, I felt two hands grip my shoulders and force me to turn around and face the interior of the apartment. The two calloused hands belonged to none other than the king of Brooklyn. Spot's steely blue eyes bore into me with an expression of frustration evident on his handsome face. "Snap out of it, Emma!" he demanded, kneeling down so he could be eyelevel with me while never relinquishing his hold on me. "Snap out of it. I's can't bear to see ya like dis. Trust me, I's felt da pain of losin' a best friend. It hoits. But you's need to know dat you ain't alone. Talk to Jack. Talk to me. We ain't goin' anywhere."

"I did talk to you, Spot," I whimpered. "But you didn't listen to me… you didn't believe me…"

Spot's expression softened. "I's sorry," he whispered. "I was… caught off guard. You ain't lyin', are you? 'Bout when you's from?"

I shook my head.

"Den I believe ya. I don't need proof. All I need is ya woid."

For the first time in three weeks, I smiled. Granted, it was small and probably pathetic, but it was a smile. Spot mimicked my smile and gathered me eagerly into his arms. "Spot," I muttered into his chest. "I love you."

I heard the rest of the newsies murmur amongst themselves as Spot's arms around me tightened. "I love ya, too."

---

At my request, Medda organized a newsie party in her theater for Manhattan and Brooklyn in honor of their victory over Harlem. I felt that the noble newsboys deserved a celebration regardless of my bitter mourning. Most of them hardly knew Andy and hardly knew me. It didn't feel justified that they should acknowledge their victory with heavy hearts just because Andy died.

Jack was extremely proud of my suggestion and commanded my presence. I was hesitant and claimed that I had hardly anything to do with the war. But Jack wouldn't listen to my oppositions. He convinced me that I should go in honor of Andy.

So, before the party, I visited Andy. She was buried in an insignificant gravesite dedicated to fallen newsies and other child laborers of New York. I knew she would've wanted to be buried here and now. It was here that she was the most happy. She belonged here. So, she was going to stay here.

The cool evening hair flittered playfully through my short hair as I stood silently over Andy's grave. My thoughts strayed to memories of her and I. Then I thought about all of her dreams and aspirations that were tragically denied because of her untimely death. But, at least she did something that she had always wanted to do. Andy pledged to herself that she wouldn't die a boring death. I laughed quietly to myself as I remembered the solemn pledge she made. It seemed silly at the time. But, now it made the world of difference. I knew Andy was satisfied because she died an utterly dramatic and unexpected death. Just the way she wanted it.

"I thought you's be here."

I didn't need to turn around to know who my visitor was. "Hi Spot," I greeted.

Spot remained silent as he strode up to my side and intertwined his fingers with mine. He joined my moment of reverence as we observed Andy's grave. The New York sun burned a fiery orange and red as it began to set. "Come on," I said, attempting a smile. "It's time for the party."

Spot didn't reply as he pulled me close and pecked me gently on the lips. "Okay, whenever ya ready."

I nodded. "Jack's expecting us."

Spot grinned his signature smirk as he slowly led me away from the gravesite. His company was like a gauze over the wound of my heart. I yearned for his presence… no, I _needed_ it. He was the one thing that prevented me from collapsing into tears every time I thought about Andy. Spot was the one constant in my life. I was deathly afraid of losing him. But Spot promised he wouldn't leave me. Spot always kept his promises.

Finally, after winding our way through a maze of roads and alleyways, we eventually arrived to the party. Newsies and their feminine companions swarmed into the theater, bathed in the glow of the fading sunset and overhead theater lights. I gripped Spot's arm tightly as he led me through the front doors of the theater and into the foyer. It was there that Jack eagerly greeted us and urged me forward into the theater establishment.

"You's two gonna sit at me table," informed Jack, pulling a seat out for me.

I nodded my head gratefully. "Thanks Jack, these are great seats.

Spot draped his arm over the back of my seat and casually leaned into me. I flashed him a smile. Immediately, the theater lights dimmed and piercing whistles resounded shrilly throughout the theater as the velvet curtains were promptly pulled apart revealing a beaming Medda. I smiled warmly as lively music accompanied the boys' wolf calls and Medda graced her fawning audience with her melodious voice. The atmosphere of the party was joyous and giddy and I was swept up in it.

"You's care to dance?" inquired Spot, pushing away from the table and offering his hand to me.

I nodded eagerly and place my hand in his. A pleased grin broke across his face as he tugged me towards the dance floor and hooked his tanned arm around my waist. The theater scenery began to blur as he spun me around. I could hear laughter and voices as I tried to stay in step with the king of Brooklyn. He was a surprisingly agile dance and if it weren't for my years of ballet, I probably would not have been able to keep step. My lungs burned and my legs grew heavy as we danced song after song after song. I didn't want to stop. Spot's gleaming eyes never left my face as he twirled me around the dance floor and I could barely tear my eyes away from his expression.

I giggled excitedly and leaned against Spot's chest for support as the music slowed to a crawl. "Good, a slow dance," I sighed as Spot led me in a casual sway.

Spot tightened his grip around my waist and pressed his lips against my forehead. "Yeah, finally," he muttered.

I smiled gently against the nape of his neck. The theater atmosphere drastically altered leaving the party-goers in an intimate mood. Around us, similar couples stepped side to side slowly with the music. I felt safe in Spot's arms. Everything felt right.

"What're thinkin' about?" murmured Spot.

I pulled away to look up at his face. "You."

Spot smirked. "What a coincidence… I's been thinkin' 'bout you."

"Yeah, that is a coincidence."

Wordlessly, Spot placed a hooked finger under my chin and pushed my face up into his. I didn't pull away as he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against mine. When I didn't resist, Spot deepened the cautious kiss. Disregarding our surroundings, I wrapped my arms around my neck and delved deeper into the kiss. I felt Spot's hands roam slowly down my back and shivers shot up my spine.

I whimpered in protest as Spot roughly pulled away. "I ain't gonna leave ya," he breathed.

"No, I know."

Spot frowned. "But you's gonna leave me."

I stared at him confused. Leave him? There was no way. "What makes you say that?"

Spot released his hold around my waist and cupped my face in his palms. I studied his sorrowful expression carefully. He knew something. "You's gonna go as suddenly as you's came," he informed me.

"Spot… what do you mean?"

"Just remembah," he continued. "That I ain't gonna leave ya alone… because I love ya…"

"Spot?"

I blinked frantically as night invaded the theater. The lights had turned off leaving me in a sea of black. "Spot!" I shrieked when I felt his hold loosen around me.

"I love ya…" said Spot his voice disappearing into the dark.

"Spot!"

Then the lights came back on.

But I wasn't at the party anymore.

I was in a bedroom.

And it was strangely familiar.

"I'm home," I muttered.

Indeed, I was standing in the midst of my own bedroom. Through my door I could hear the soft din of my family and outside my window I saw the violet hue of night. My laptop computer lay forlorn on my orange comforter and my cell phone was sitting nearby. Instantly, I grabbed my sidekick and scrolled through its contents. An irksome notion tugged at my heart as I scoured through my phonebook.

"She… never existed," I whispered in awe.

There was no trace of Elizabeth Baker.

She never existed in the year 2009.

Dropping my phone, I twirled around to face my reflection in my full-length mirror. I still wore the burgundy dress I wore to Medda's party. The only thing missing was the party… and Spot.

Spot.

I stared dejectedly into my reflection. What happened?

"Honey?" I glanced up at my bedroom door. My mother's muffled voice could be heard from the other side. "You okay?" she asked. "The power just went out but, obviously, it's back."

"Um… yeah, I'm fine," I assured her. It was surprisingly odd to hear her voice after so long from being away.

"Okay, goodnight."

"Oh, wait, mom?"

I waited a moment to allow my mom to return to her position standing outside my closed door. "Yeah?"

I fingered my dress anxiously. "Have you heard anything about Andy?"

"Andy?" repeated my mom. "Who's he?"

I sighed. "Never mind."

"Okay, goodnight."

So, it was true. Andy never lived in the year 2009… but she did… but not anymore. I slapped my palm against my forehead. Things were becoming confusing. Andy and I traveled to the year 1899 because… I had to save Jack hence save me… but what about Andy? Was she only supposed to die? No. That wasn't it.

Instinctively, my fingers flew up to my lips. What about Spot? He said he wouldn't leave me… and he didn't lie. I left him. Against my will, of course. "What happens now?" I muttered, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

I was back home.

Without Andy.

Without Spot.

What was supposed to happen now?

* * *

_Emma's home and discovered that Andy never existed in the year 2009! Jeez... time travel confuses me..._

_Anyway, my next chapter will be the LAST!_

_Just to give you a heads up. :)_

_- The Irish Baroness_


	10. Epilogue

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_

_Epilogue_

* * *

Today marked the one hundred and fourteenth anniversary of Alexandra Baker's death. I sat inside my dorm room and stared out bleakly at the dreary afternoon. It had been four years since my time warp to the year 1899. At the ripe age of nineteen, I was attending Julliard in New York City. I had been awarded a scholarship on ballet and I was one of the top in the class.

I shifted slightly on the window seat as icy droplets pelted the window pane. New York had changed a lot in the past one hundred years. In my opinion, New York had lost its magic and vigor. The city had become blanketed in a fog of self-interest and lack of dreams. In the gray distance, I could discern the snaking Hudson River and I knew past that was Brooklyn. I sighed audibly and slid deeper into my seat. Sure, there was Brooklyn. But there was no king.

"Emma?"

I sat up at the sound of my name. My roommate, Natalia, peered in from the hallway, a worried frown etched across her face. "Are you coming to the party?" she inquired, her voice heavy with a Russian accent.

I slowly shook my ahead. "No, you go ahead. I'm not in the mood to celebrate."

Natalia tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear. "You look like someone died," she teased.

I smiled pitifully. "Do I? Maybe I need some fresh air."

"Well… if you feel up to it, stop by the party, later," urged Natalia. I nodded weakly as Natalia shot me one last smile and disappeared back into the hallway.

"Fresh air," I muttered to myself. "That's probably a good idea." Swiftly, I grabbed my jacket that had been previously discarded on my bed and tugged on my faded pair of converse shoes. After shoving my cell phone and wallet into my jean's pocket, I hurried out of the dorm room.

The crisp New York air nicked playfully at my exposed skin as I sauntered down the street. Oblivious New Yorkers rushed by me, ear buds plugged into their ears and their expressionless eyes gazing out ahead of them. Everyone was more social and open one hundred years ago. It was no longer the case.

After an hour of aimlessly wandering, I came to a restaurant. "Tibby's," I said aloud. "Established in 1890."

"It's been 'round a pretty long time, hasn't it?" chuckled a voice behind me.

I spun around and gasped. "Spot!"

Spot, or his lookalike, shot me a confused look. "Spot?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I stammered. "You… look like someone I knew."

"I get dat a lot," he said.

It certainly sounded like him. And he definitely looked like him, too. But what was I thinking? It's been a hundred and fourteen years!

"Can I treat ya to lunch?" offered the Spot lookalike.

I hesitated. "I don't even know your name," I pointed out.

The Spot lookalike smirked. "To tell ya da truth, I never told you's my name, Emma. 'Sides, Spot wasn't da name me mudder gave me."

I felt my heart leap into my throat. "You're… you're…"

"Spot Conlon… But me real name is Seamus Conlon."

"No way!" I cried, leaping into his arms. "How is this possible?"

Spot laughed and pulled me tightly into his grasp. "I fought a war for you, toots, I ain't lettin' ya go that easily."

I pulled away to look him squarely in the eye. "So…"

"So how 'bout lunch?" he offered eagerly. "It's been 'bout… how many years? One hundred 'n fourteen?"

I laughed. "Too long," I agreed.

I didn't question reality as Spot swiftly led me into the restaurant. I didn't object to fate as he pulled out a chair for me at our table. I didn't question my sanity as Spot reached across the table to gently stroke my hand. He was here and I didn't want that to change.

Because fate is fickle and likes to play with us.

Because love challenges the taunts of time.

Because friendship surpasses the sorrows of death.

Because I'll miss Andy, honor Jack, and love Spot.

Forever.

* * *

_Yes, this is the end of this 'Newsie' fanfic... but, luckily, I'm in the midst of writing another and THIS one will take place purely in the year 1899... so check it out!_

_- The Irish Baroness_


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